


Extra Credit

by gals_being_pals



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, College AU, F/F, POV First Person, Swan Queen AU, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gals_being_pals/pseuds/gals_being_pals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan chooses a very daring topic for her final Politics essay, but Professor Mills' reaction is pleasantly far from the reprimand she was expecting. After their initial flirtation with the issue, both women discover there is far more to the other than they anticipated, and they find a connection neither of them had thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been available for a long time on fanfiction dot net but I'm returning to it after a break and bringing it over here, too. As always, I love knowing what you think. 
> 
>  
> 
> TW: past abuse, panic/anxiety, panic attacks, child illness

I drum my fingers against my laptop. I have nothing. _Nothing_. I've known about this paper for weeks and I've finally gotten to it this weekend but the last two days have been torture, staring at a blank document. Okay, marathoning Grey's Anatomy. I never said I was a model student. But I've been thinking about the paper too, trying in vain to come up with something, anything, that I'm passionate enough about. That's the task, 10 pages on something I'm passionate about. What kind of topic is that anyway? I'm in college, it's for my politics class. The professor said something about passion being key to politics. Who am I kidding, something about? She said,

"Class, all great politicians should be passionate. While your final exam will deal with political theory, I am demanding something much more personal for your final essay. I want you to argue for your greatest passion, I want you to explain to me why you are passionate about it, I want you to make me feel as you feel. I want you to give me your hearts."

And then she smiled that smile that makes my stomach do backflips. Professor Mills. I would have gladly ripped my heart out of my chest right there and handed it to her. But then she would have failed me. She's great, I've never had a better teacher, but she's a harsh grader. Honestly, she's kind of evil.

I'm head over heels in love with her.

It all started on the first day of the semester,the second of my second year at UCLA. I hadn't wanted to take politics, I fought with my advisor about it. I'm a social work major, I want to work with kids, help them get out of the system like I did, and I think of politicians as scheming liars who don't care about anything but lining their own pockets. But I needed the credits and all the other options were full, and he thought it would be "good for me".

Good for me, to have an 8am every Monday morning. Dr Hopper is an asshole. Anyway, so I was late to the class, obviously. My scholarship gets me a dorm room but it kind of means that I always sleep in. At least my roommate has a coffee machine. I think Mary Margaret might be an actual angel. Not right now, because it's 2am and I'm still fidgeting instead of writing. I don't think angels are supposed to hate. But generally, she's an angel.

I got to this class and Professor Mills had already started, some speech about the importance of rules and regularity. I stumbled through the door, I swear only five minutes late, a total mess though, denim shorts and the tank top I'd slept in, no socks inside my favourite cowboy boots, and she turned around, looked me up and down, and of course every damn seat was taken.

"You must be Miss Swan, the _late_ addition," she said, smirking. I would have apologised but I was too busy staring because she was fucking perfection. She was young, really young, like younger than thirty, and she wore this tight grey dress that didn't reveal anything but was somehow the sluttiest outfit I'd ever seen. She had bright red lipstick and her eyes had this mean, seductive glare that I was sure hid so much depth.

"I would like to speak with you at the end of class. For now, why don't you take a seat at my desk?"

I slumped into the fancy professor chair and took out my books, trying to look like a good student, but Professor Mills had turned back to the rest of the class and all I could see was her gorgeous behind. I was tempted to drop my pencil. Then I did drop it, but behind me, and practically fell out of my chair trying to pick it up. She didn't say anything, she just stopped speaking altogether and turned around, watching me with one eyebrow raised until I was back in my seat with my pencil in my hand-

"Emma!"

Mary Margaret grabs my foot. Both of our beds are lofted, our room's this awesome indie canopy thing, we even burn incense, but right now she's trying to pull me out of bed and onto the floor.

"What?" I ask. I feel kind of bad, maybe she wants to sleep.

"Emma, you're supposed to be writing your politics paper but you've been basically drooling on yourself for the last half hour. What's on your mind that's more important than not losing your scholarship?"

I groan. "I was thinking about the damn professor. What the hell was she thinking with this topic?"

M shrugs. "I think it's a good topic. I mean, it's hard that it's open but you could write about social equality or healthcare or-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. She said it had to be _personal_. Like, we can write about a wider political issue but we have to include a strong personal element, like why it matters to _us_."

M gives me a look. "I hate to say this to you, Em, because you're really smart and all, but are you really _that_ stupid?"

"What?"

"Em, what is your whole life about? What are you studying? Why are you here?"

"I…" I trail off. I'm not going to write about that.

"I think you're only stuck because you know what you should write, it's the obvious thing to write, but you don't want to write it because you don't want to reveal yourself."

I grit my teeth. "She has no right to know that stuff, I don't talk about my childhood to anyone… And anyway, I'm not passionate about it. I want to make it right, make it better, that was part of why I got the scholarship but I'm not… I'm not passionate."

"Liar."

"Think what you like. I'm not writing that for my essay."

"You have to write something."

"I'll write about Grey's."

"And then you'll fail. Idiot."

I make a face.

"Emma, this is the professor you're practically in love with… Would it really be so bad to open up to her?"

"Yes!"

M shrugs again. "Suit yourself. Bullshit your way through it. But she'll know."

I look at my document again. I realise I'm being totally inconsistent. I say I want to give Professor Mills my heart, but I won't even give her a little piece of it. I'm so scared, I'm so scared she won't like me, won't like what I write, will lose respect for me… She doesn't know any of it. I refuse to be the charity case, the pitiable scholarship kid with no family to go home to.

And suddenly I know what I'm going to write. I bite my nail, thinking, a smile forming on my face.

"Emma..?" M says dubiously.

"Don't worry, M."

Em and M. That's what people call us. I chuckle at it again. If only we were a ship…

"When you say don't worry, I always worry."

"It's a great idea, I swear. I'm gonna go to the 24 hour lab in the library so you can get some sleep."

She flops down on her bed. "Fine. Don't get yourself kicked out."

I don't answer. Honestly, I'm about to do the stupidest thing I've ever done. But there's only one thing I'm passionate about right now. And that's Professor Mills.

I smash out the last paragraph. It's actually good, though I say so myself. I haven't hidden anything. I'm no teacher's pet, I never could be, I just say what I think. I say how she makes me feel, how she distracts the hell out of me in class, how I still hate politics, how driving her nuts in basically every class makes getting out of bed in the morning worthwhile.

Like this one time… It was a few weeks into the class and I'd been managing to be pretty much on time and this morning I was actually _early_ and only a couple other students were there and Professor Mills walked in all sassy and "I woke up like dis" and class started and it was about women in the political field.

"In my time as a mayor, I-"

"Wait, Professor, you were a mayor?"

"Yes, of a large town in Maine. Please do not interrupt, Miss Swan."

"Why'd you quit?"

I wondered how she could have already been a mayor and become a teacher in her twenties.

"I grew tired of the environment."

I tilted my head to one side. We'd been talking about women for a few classes now and I couldn't help myself.

"Because it was so male dominated?" I asked coyly.

"That was a part of it, yes."

"So how would you advise the women in this class interested in pursuing a career in politics? Should they also quit when it gets tough and retreat into a more feminine career?"

"Miss Swan, my personal choices are not relevant to this class. But of course, I advise all of you to see your gender as something positive, and to follow your chosen career knowing that it should not hold you back."

"I'm glad you think so. But what about exploitation, and inequalities like… For example, the way women are supposed to look."

She prickled instantly. "My appearance is my personal choice."

"You don't think tight skirts and lipstick make a statement?"

"I like to show that strength and femininity are not mutually exclusive."

She kind of had me there. I loved the way she dressed, too. But I wasn't backing down.

"But shouldn't you be able to be taken seriously even in jeans and a tank top?"

She smirked. I was glad, I didn't really want to upset her. Much. "It seems your main issue with me is that I do not favor your preferred style of dress. Must we all be like you for you to respect us, Miss Swan?"

I shrugged. "No. But when I asked, I didn't mean you in particular. You assumed that. Which means you _are_ sensitive about it. You use your body, you basically prostitute yourself to society so you can have power over people. But for some reason, when you did have power, you gave it up to teach-"

"Yes," she said exasperatedly. "To teach in one of the most respected schools in the country. I do not see it as a step down. And I am partial to the sunshine. Now, if you do not want an F for your class participation grade, I would advise you to keep your mouth shut for the remainder of this class."

I did as she said. She seemed like the sort of person to follow through on threats. But it wasn't long before I was provoking her again. Mostly I liked doing it because she always had answers.

I feel a little guilty that my serious paper is so ridiculous. But I'm sick of teasing her because I can't tell her how I feel, I'm sick of her driving me crazy three times a week, I'm sick of pretending I'm something I'm not. I don't belong here with all these rich kids, I don't fit in with the smarmy assholes studying politics, or even the students in my social work classes. I don't know how I got my scholarship but despite my consistently high grades, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being the success story, the model foster kid. My life was awful. I hate myself for not running away, I had countless opportunities, but I stayed in a life that I hated because I was seemingly incapable of breaking a single rule.

Professor Mills inspired me to break the rules. I'm pretty sure she didn't mean to, but she still did, so I make the finishing touches to my insane paper and print it out in the required MLA format, just in time for class.

I put my paper on the pile. She looks at me and I feel as if she knows. She can't possibly know but somehow she knows and she stares right into me and I shiver despite the sweltering heat.

"Thank you, Miss Swan. I'll see you in the exam."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I say dramatically. The corner of her mouth lifts up in a smile.

"If only all my students were so enthusiastic," she says with just a hint of sarcasm. How little she knows.

"What can I say, professor? You inspire me," I drawl.

"I am honored," she says, and she actually looks kind of chuffed; her eyes glitter and for a second it's like she's thinking that she means something. And then I'm projecting but… She seems really damn happy to mean something. I wonder if maybe she feels a bit like I do, like her life is meaningless no matter what she does. I wonder about why she really moved here, why she wants to teach.

My exams aren't going to start for another couple of weeks so I'm pretty free. I have to work, I have a job washing dishes in the cafeteria. It makes my fingers all dry and wrinkly, but it's not that bad. I like it because I don't have to interact with people. I don't exactly have anything against people, it's just… They're demanding. I always have to be someone, to be someone I'm not. Everyone tells me I should be myself; the trouble is, I don't know who that is. I know what I'm doing now doesn't feel right, but that doesn't mean I know what _would_ feel right. Washing dishes always makes me philosophical. Well, either that or I fantasise about a certain professor rubbing my back and shoulders to ease the ache I have in them from bending over the sink.

I spend the afternoon working, take a quick shower, then run down to the beach. M's used to me keeping to myself; we arrange to meet for a late dinner but I can't wait to get off campus and away from anyone I know. I plug in my ipod, shutting out the world, and practically sprint away from civilisation. There's a part of the nearest beach that's fenced off, I think it used to be used for something to do with the military but now it's just empty, hidden from everything by a bunch of rocks, and I scale the fence and drop down into it and find a patch of grass to lie on, letting the sun tan my sweaty skin. It bleaches my hair, too - in summer my hair's like white gold, it's my favourite thing about the way I look.

I turn off my music so I can listen to the ocean. I can hear the city but it's faint, a soothing hum of manmade sounds mixing with natural ones. I listen to my breathing, I feel my heart thrumming in my chest and I stare out at the horizon, dreaming of sailing off into it and never coming back. I don't know where I'd go, I just know that I want to. I've always been trapped, and now that I'm free, totally independent, no one holding me down at all… Somehow I feel more trapped than ever. I've spent my whole life running from all kinds of pain. But I think the pain's gotten inside me somehow. No matter where I run, there's no escape.

The ocean sloshes against the sand, wiping away the marks of the day. A clean slate for tomorrow. I wish my mind could be a clean slate… I give myself a shake before I can get upset, then I jump to my feet and run along the waterline, kicking up sand that stings my legs. I run for almost an hour before turning back. The sun's starting to set; the sky burns pink and orange and purple and I burn with it, pushing my body as hard as I can all the way back to campus.

M's already waiting outside the caf. She rolls her eyes as I charge up to her.

"I'm not showering," I tell her. "I need ice cream. Ice cream and fries."

She looks at my washboard stomach.

"You're a biological marvel," she tells me. I see what she means. I always have energy despite a diet of junk food, too much coffee, and the occasional vitamin pill when I remember to take it.

We go inside. She puts together a salad and orders a grilled chicken burger. I help myself to a large bowl of ice cream coated in sprinkles and chocolate syrup, then order some fries to dip in it. We go out on the balcony to eat.

"Are you gonna tell me what you wrote for Professor Mills?" M asks me.

I consider this. "Maybe," I say. "If you promise not to judge me."

She narrows her eyes. "I make no promises. But now you have to tell me."

I sigh. "I wrote about her. I wrote that she's my passion."

M laughs, she thinks I'm kidding. And then she sees my deadpan expression and she gasps.

"No," she says slowly. "You can't have…"

"I did," I tell her.

"You're insane."

"I know."

"You… Why?" she asks in the end.

"Because… I decided to tell the truth."

"Jesus, Emma, you couldn't have picked another truth? Every student gets a crush on one professor or another. You never _tell_ them about it. That's just… Crazy." She sounds more sympathetic than anything else, like I'm someone to be pitied.

"I didn't have another truth. M, I don't fit in here, we both know it. I'm not like the other students, I'm not even like you. I came here to escape, but after almost two years… I can't be how I should be."

"No one wants you to be anything other than yourself, Emma. It's just… Sometimes rules are a good idea."

"And in this case..?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Of course it's a good thing that professors can't have relationships with students!"

"Why? We're both adults. She won't be my professor after this semester, what difference does it make?"

"Because… I don't know, it's just wrong. She's so much older-"

"Less than ten years," I counter.

M sighs. "It's just not appropriate."

I shrug. I know that. "I guess… I just couldn't help myself. I know it was dumb but it was like once I thought of it, it wasn't possible for me to write anything else." I eat my last ice cream coated fry. "I get in trouble. It's what I do."

"You feel like you don't fit in, but you turn that into feeling that you _can't_ fit in," she tells me. "And that's not true. You can fit in, you're allowed to be happy, Emma. You don't have to break everything any more."

"Too late now," I point out.

She gives me this awful, pitying look. "You'll get another chance. You'll just have to apologise. They'll understand."

"I can't apologise," I say. "I'm not sorry."

She rolls her eyes, but then she gives in and smiles. She knows being serious and mad won't change anything. "Let me know what she says," she chuckles.

We go back to our room and watch a few episodes of a dumb sitcom, then settle down to sleep. The next two weeks are a blur of work, studying, running, partying - especially partying. I love drinking, I smoke weed, I embrace my stereotype of a wild college girl. I make friends, I make more than friends, I don't save any numbers or remember any names. Exam time rolls around and I've almost forgotten the essay, I've been so busy and I try really hard not to be a worrier. But then, the day before my Politics final, I get an email. My heart's racing just from the subject line.

_Final Essay for Politics 201_

_Miss Swan,_

_While your chosen topic for your final essay in this class was original and intriguing, I feel I cannot grade it fairly due to personal bias. I have decided to grant you an extension, provided you meet with me after your examination tomorrow to discuss more appropriate topics._

_All the best for your finals,_

_Prof. Mills_

I call M as soon as I've read it. Six times.

"What?" she asks in a muttered whisper. I never call her.

"Friendly," I tease.

"Sorry," she says in her normal voice. "I was in the library. Why are you calling me?"

"I just got an email from Professor Mills about my essay!"

"Oh, God…"

"No, it's not bad. It actually seems like… Like she liked it. She says I have to do another one, she wants to meet me after the exam. So maybe she is mad, but I don't know, it doesn't really seem like I'm in trouble."

I can hear M's reaction, changes in her breathing as she goes from surprised to amused.

"Good for you, asshole," she says in the end, laughing. "Maybe she returns your affections."

"Yeah, right." I roll my eyes to the empty room, then hang up and go back to studying.

The exam isn't bad, I finish on time and I feel pretty good about things. That is, until I see Professor Mills staring at me with a stony expression. I shudder. She _has_ to know what she does to me. I stay in my seat until everyone else has left, then I get up slowly and hand her my paper. She puts it on the pile, then picks up the whole lot to carry. Without really thinking about it, I grab her purse for her and hold open the door. She nods in thanks and I follow her to the elevator, where we stay in complete silence, and then into her office.

I've never been in here before. It seems kind of empty, there's nothing personal, no pictures, not even a pot plant. Most professors really go to town on their offices but Professor Mills' space could belong to anyone. The pinboard is empty apart from the fire instructions; even her pens must be in a desk drawer - her desk is completely bare. She puts the papers down on it, then takes a different paper out of a drawer. Mine.

She sits down and puts on her glasses. So, so hot. I sit in the chair opposite her, awkwardly passing her purse over the desk.

"So, Miss Swan," she says, a slight blush rising to her cheeks as she turns to the first page of my essay. "Perhaps we should discuss your original submission, first."

I aim for nonchalance, but I think I end up looking like I'm going to puke. The air feels thick, like it's pressurising us. I'm glad I'm sitting but I still feel like I might faint if she fiddles with her hair one more time. She's wearing a black skirt and a red silk blouse with way too many buttons undone and I'm sweating profusely through my Star Wars t-shirt and denim cut offs (so short the pockets hang out below the ends of the legs). I scuff the toes of my boots and bite my lip, nodding, then I wait for her to say something else.

"I've assigned this piece every semester I've taught 201. This is the first time in three years I've had a submission anything like this. I think you were well aware you would be called out on it, I think you knew you were breaking the boundaries… Honestly, I think you were expecting to fail. I know you like getting a rise out of me. But this essay is incredibly well written. I find it passionate, which was what I wanted, and I feel that it gives an insight into you which very few people seem to be privileged with."

She pauses. I wait. She looks at me as if she wants me to say something. I keep waiting.

"I don't know if you intended to mock me. I think it is very likely that what I say next will turn into a grand joke between you and your friends. But… When I read this paper, Miss Swan, I found myself close to tears. No one has ever been so complimentary towards me, as a joke or otherwise."

I stare at her. I can't hide my surprise.

"Furthermore, I was moved by a paragraph close to the end." She flicks through the pages, finding the section. I blush bright red as she begins to read it out loud.

" _In addition to the ways in which she inspires me academically and argumentatively, I am passionate about Professor Mills because of her insight into people. In politics, such insight is vital. And Professor Mills sees me in a way no one ever has before. She sees that I love to fight, but when we clash it is as if she knows I have no choice but to challenge her. She does not force me to conform to her rules. Her class is the only place in which I have ever felt that everything I am is accepted. It is the only place where I do not constantly fear that I am wrong, that I am making mistakes, and that I do not belong there._ And then you go on to conclude that this makes me a good teacher," she says.

"I wasn't joking," I blurt out. "I meant every word."

She looks at me; I feel like she can see right into my soul.

"Thank you," she says softly. "But, Miss Swan, if you really feel this way…" She trails off, reaching out across the desk almost as if she wants to take my hand.

"You shouldn't," she says in the end. My stomach clenches as I see the beginning of sympathy in her eyes.

"I don't need your pity," I say, almost angry.

"I do not pity you, Miss Swan," she says firmly. "You are one of the brightest students I have ever encountered. You are feisty, you are strong, you are exceptionally beautiful, and ridiculously brave."

To my horror, I feel my eyes prickle with tears. I force myself to hold them in.

"I am curious, though. If you wish to tell me, I would like to know why you feel as if you must be wrong, as if you do not belong anywhere. Anywhere but my class," she adds, smiling ruefully.

"Did you look me up?" I ask. I know the answer. I want to know if she'll tell the truth.

"Yes."

I'm pleasantly surprised at her candor.

"But your scholarship status and the fact that your emergency contact is a social worker can only tell me so much. Where possible, I prefer not to make assumptions."

"You also know that I have a 4.0 GPA, and that I run cross country," I point out. She chuckles.

"I can tell to look at you that you run cross country."

I shrug. "I'm in it for the money."

"Where I went to college, the most lucrative scholarships were for music."

"Did you have one?"

"Piano," she confirms. I'm impressed. I play a little guitar, but to have gotten a scholarship she must be pretty amazing.

"I just said what I think," I say, going back to the essay, wanting to get it off the table as soon as possible. "I like your class. I never went to fancy schools or had a fancy family, I don't know how to talk like I'm rich and famous, which is how everyone seems to talk here. I don't like the things they like, when I make myself hang out with them I feel like I'm faking everything. But even though I never wanted to take your class," I pause to see her chuckle again, "you make me feel… Good. Safe. And like I said, like I might actually be doing something right. Honestly, I was so stuck when I was writing that paper because I feel like I don't know who I am, underneath all the faking I'm just… Nothing. I've always been nothing. You were the only thing I could think of that I actually give a damn about. Your class is the only place I feel real."

Her hand's still lying there on the desk and I almost take it, I'm so close, but then she pulls it back and looks at me, another kind of look, hard and thoughtful.

"Do you feel real now?" she asks me. I'm not expecting the question, I open and close my mouth a few times like a confused fish. But then I nod.

"Yeah…" I say slowly. "I mean… I feel like you're really listening. Like you actually want to know what I think."

She smiles. "You are correct. Considering what you have said to me, I am reluctant to send you away to write a paper that will demand so much, without any help. There is no impending deadline, I have until August to submit your final grade, so… If you like, we can meet again when your exams are over and set about exploring and furthering your passions."

The way she says passions does incredible things to my hyped up body, but I force myself to calm down and think about her suggestion.

"How do you mean?" I ask.

"The other students in the class drew upon their experiences seeing musicians, movies, plays, artists, museums, political speakers, places they had traveled... Currently you are at something of a disadvantage; I completely understand your reluctance to write about passions which developed from a life seemingly focused largely on basic survival. So, if you are interested, I propose that you allow me to share with you some of my passions. I have a car, and plenty of time now that the semester is over. You may choose another topic, and write another paper."

"So… You want to show me, like, museums and stuff?"

She smiles again. "Yes. Something like that."

I can hardly contain myself. I'm grinning like an idiot, I feel like it's Christmas, like how Christmas should feel.

"I must be clear, Miss Swan, this is still strictly a teaching relationship."

Somehow her tone implies she wants to be the opposite of clear. But I nod in understanding. I don't want to get either of us in trouble.

"I am glad to see you seem to be in favour of my plan..?" she says, her voice raising at the end of the sentence with an uncertainty that turns it into a question. I can't believe that she's nervous, of _me_ , but somehow she is. I keep grinning at her.

"Yes," I say happily. She stands, walking around the desk. I stand too but she doesn't stop walking, she steps right into my personal space, so close I can feel her breath on my lips. Her smile changes from awkward and cute to powerfully salacious.

"Then I look forward to working with you, Miss Swan," she says. I almost squeal as I feel her hand slide up my thigh, but then it's gone and I reach down to find she has simply slipped a business card in my pocket.

"Call me when your exams are over so we can arrange a date," she murmurs in my ear.

I try not to moan as I tell her I will, then stumble from the room. I get out of the building and lean against the wall in the sunshine, wondering how the hell I'm going to survive this extra credit class. For most of the meeting, I was sure she was being totally professional. But the last two minutes changed everything. There was nothing professional about the way she looked at me, the way she _touched_ me. I groan as I replay every deliberate movement, every look, every time her tongue peeked out to lick her luscious red lips, every flex of her fingers across the desk. I never thought she would read between the lines of my essay to see my darkest desires, but now I'm realising that of course she sees them. She sees them because _they are hers as well_.


	2. Chapter 2

I flop against the cheap leather couch, alcohol buzzing around my brain as I remind myself it's only 4pm. I had my last final this morning and a bunch of guys invited me to their "garden party". I hadn't been going to go, I actually made a call first, but there was no answer. So much for having loads of time on her hands. I'm beginning to think Professor Mills wasn't being serious when she told me how I could make up the credit for her class. It was probably some sick joke. It wouldn't be the first time I'd been toyed with by someone who said they would help me. So, after leaving a weird voice message, I called after the guys and jumped in the back of a pickup to go get wasted.

And now I'm at this party with people I don't really know, they're cool though, being fed cheap beer and roll ups that are definitely not just tobacco, being fondled by some football hunk, feeling about as awesome as I ever feel about life, and I'm literally about to go inside with him when my phone rings. I feel it vibrating in my pocket and suddenly I kind of like that I have an excuse to get away from this guy. I jump up from the couch on this rundown little porch and stagger into the street.

"Hello?" I slur into the phone.

"Miss Swan?"

Damn it! I should really make a habit of checking the caller ID.

"Shit, Professor Mills," I try to say, though I'm having some trouble with my words.

"Miss Swan, are you alright?"

"Yeah, totally fine, just, uhm, a lil' sick…" I fumble around with the lie and I know she's not buying it.

"Miss Swan, you seem to be utterly inebriated. Where are you?"

I look back at the house. I actually have no idea.

"Party," I admit, sounding embarrassingly ashamed of myself. She makes a sound, like "hm", and I'm in love with it and I almost tell her but then a car zooms past, inches from my face, and before I know it I'm on my ass in the road, the world a swaying blur in front of my eyes.

"Miss Swan! What on earth was that?"

"Car…" I say. She seems to be moving now, she sounds really worried.

"S'okay, I'm fine," I tell her.

"Nonsense. By the sounds of things you almost became roadkill just then. Miss Swan, I want you to put me on speaker and then pull up the GPS on your phone so you can tell me where you are."

I do as she says, reciting my location like a child. She tells me she's getting in her car, and that I should get off the street. I slump onto the sidewalk, barely aware of what's happening. I feel like she shows up immediately. To my surprise, she's wearing loose linen slacks with a black and white aztec type pattern, a tight black tank top, and _flats_.

"You're tiny," I exclaim. She laughs behind her sunglasses.

"Judging me by my stature now? Come on, Miss Swan, get in the car."

She drives a black porsche, she has the top down. I'm impressed.

"Sorry," I say as I collapse into the seat. She makes a face.

"Miss Swan, are you high?" she asks. I don't really see the point in denying it.

I settle for a quiet, "Maybe," and she drives. I'm vaguely aware that she's driving away from campus. We must be going to her place. I kind of wish I was sober.

"Why did you come get me?" I ask suddenly. My drunkenness makes me much more talkative than usual. "You hardly know me. I would have been fine."

"I was worried about you," she says. "You sounded, and you are, incredibly drunk. It would not be safe for you to be alone."

"I've been this drunk lots of times," I slur.

"You say that as if it makes things better. Miss Swan, you need to take care of yourself. You are not even 21."

"Boy, you really did read my file. At least you know when my birthday is now." I stumble through the sentences, trying to sound sassy. I'm nearly 21. I deserve to be 21. I've had to look after myself since I can remember, I have more of a right to drink than most people over the legal age.

Professor Mills sighs, but she doesn't seem mad. She looks at me through her sunglasses.

"Do try to remain conscious," she requests. I laugh. Because she made a joke, she's teasing me, we're in a totally bizarre situation and I'm totally hammered and she's driving me to her house and making jokes to pass the time.

"I'll do my best," I say. I feel a little queasy, but she's actually a great driver. Fast, but effortlessly so. I hope this won't be the only time she drives me. As if she can read my mind, she reaches into the backseat and grabs a folded shopping bag, one of the glossy card ones you get from really fancy stores. She shakes it open and hands it to me.

"So you don't throw up in my car," she explains. I'm already retching into the bag, totally mortified, but very impressed at her forsight.

"Are you psychic?" I ask her. She laughs.

"No, Miss Swan," she says, seemingly unphased by my copious vomiting, "but I have been drunk and high before."

I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. "Really? I thought you were a robot, just like all other teachers," I say. She rolls her eyes.

"It's not as uncommon a belief as you might think."

"How old are you?" I ask. She's pulling into her drive, she waits until the car's stopped before she answers.

"I am twenty-nine. But I will be thirty before you are twenty-one."

"Do you still get drunk?"

"Yes," she says simply. "Now, do you think you can make it to the door without help?"

She picks up her purse and takes the shopping bag from my lap, tying it and dropping it neatly in her garbage can as if bags of puke are something she deals with on a regular basis. I'm still leaning on the car; she comes back and puts an arm firmly around my waist. I let her half walk, half carry me to her door; she props me against the wall while she unlocks it, then helps me inside.

I look around, my drunkenness making me unashamedly nosy. Her house is big, neat, and modern. It's not very personal, not as empty as her office but still pretty bare. No photographs, no trinkets… There are paintings on the walls, though, and there's a plant in the foyer. She leads the way to the kitchen, sits me down at the table, and fetches me a glass of water along with a basin in case I need to throw up again. To my delight, she then pops open a beer for herself and sits down opposite me, watching me with interest.

"Professor Mills?" I ask.

She takes a swig of beer. "You can call me Regina, if you like. What's up?"

"Regina," I say slowly, savouring her first name, loving that I have permission to use it. She waits for me to continue. "Regina, do you like me?"

She seems surprised, but then she smiles. "Yes, Miss Swan-"

"Wait," I interrupt. "If I'm calling you Regina, you have to call me Emma."

"Okay, Emma. Yes. I like you."

I grin from ear to ear. Her approval makes me foolishly brave.

"And do you think I'm pretty?"

She narrows her eyes, but then her expression softens into comfort and she smiles at me again. She seems to decide that it's only awkward if she makes it so. I don't know if it's the alcohol, or maybe the weed, but she seems way more at ease than she did a couple of weeks ago in her office. She's not nervous, she seems to know exactly how to handle me. Maybe it helps that she's on home turf.

"Yes, Emma. You're beautiful," she tells me. "But you and I both know better than to judge people by their appearance."

I attempt to roll my eyes; I end up kind of wobbling on the chair. "I think you're pretty too," I tell her. She chuckles.

"Thank you. Drink some more of your water, please."

I do as she says.

"We will have to have this conversation again when you are sober, but you called me this morning, and your… demeanor, also suggests that you have finished your finals?"

I nod.

"In that case, if you are amenable, perhaps our first meeting could be on Saturday. Unless you would rather keep your weekends for yourself?"

"Saturday's fine," I say, trying not to sound too eager. "Why didn't you answer your phone earlier?" Being drunk makes me childish; I blurt out the question as if she should have no life, as if she should spend all her time waiting by the phone for me to call.

For the first time, she looks worried. She seems to see through everything I say.

"I was.. I didn't have my phone," she says. "Did… Were you upset that I didn't answer?"

"No," I say quickly. She digs into my mind with her eyes. "Okay, fine, I… I thought maybe you hadn't meant it. That you'd take me places and stuff. Or that you changed your mind. I thought maybe you didn't want me to call you after all. But that's stupid. I never answer my phone half the time, it doesn't mean anything, I was just-"

"Emma." She uses my name to stop me. I love the way it sounds coming from her mouth.

"Sometimes we let our insecurities run away with us. It's not stupid. It's human."

I make a face. "I was pretty stupid today."

Regina (I love calling her that in my mind, too) looks at her beer, then back at me.

"I'm not going to pretend I approve of your actions today. But they are just that, _your_ actions, and I can't criticise them either. I'm glad you answered your phone, and that you let me take care of you. And you weren't stupid. You felt something, something I am certain was about far more than some professor, and you acted on your feelings. That's not wrong. Acting on your feelings is right."

I try to take in her words. Again, I wish I was sober. I want to take in everything, soak up every moment of this woman who has to be miles and miles out of my league. This has to be a one off, a once in a lifetime chance to get to know this person, and I'm missing it. I want to tell her somehow, tell her how much I want to get to know her, to be her friend, even. It's not all about sex, although I'm insanely attracted to her. It's about something deeper, about the way she makes me feel. Right now, I actually feel _safe_. I can't remember the last time I felt that way. Maybe I never have. But with her I feel like I matter, like she really cares about me, like I'm not alone.

"I think, in general, people are often far too worried about acting on their feelings, about expressing themselves honestly. For a long time, I was. I did what was expected, what I thought I should do, and somehow I lost track of everything I wanted. I became a person I despised- But I must be boring you. Oh, Emma, you're hardly even awake," she says, embarrassed that she continued her speech so long. I want to tell her to keep going, that I want to hear everything, even though I have no idea how she could possibly be anything that could be despised. But words fail me. I slump back in my chair. At least I finished my water. I look at the glass with pride.

"You need to sleep this off," Regina tells me. "But I don't want you to be alone. Will your roommate be home?"

I shake my head, somehow very glad that M is staying over at her boyfriend's place. Regina pauses, but only for a second. She knew she might have to ask this.

"Would you mind staying here?"

I struggle to hold myself back; my instinct is to scream with delight.

"Is that okay?"

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

She stands and helps me towards what turns out to be the bathroom. Ever the mind reader. Or bladder reader, in this case. She leaves me to it; when I come out she's washed my glass, finished her beer, recycled the bottle (I spy her colour coordinated recycling bins), and fetched a t-shirt and sleep shorts which she is now hugging to her chest. She seems small again, as if confessing too much of herself has made her intimidating outer appearance fade away.

She leads the way upstairs, and into what I deduce to be her bedroom. She hands me the clothes, then goes into an ensuite bathroom and returns with a new toothbrush.

"I'm going to get you another glass of water. I'll sleep on the couch, I just don't think you should be alone."

I look at the couch at the side of the room. It seems large and comfortable, but I can't kick her out of her bed!

"I should sleep on the couch," I say, still having trouble forming sentences.

"No," she says firmly. "Bed."

I feel like a child, but I nod in acceptance. She goes to get the water, I put on the pyjamas she's given me. They smell like her. I wonder if I'm already dreaming. I perch on the edge of the bed and wait for her to come back. I try to hurry her up with my mind. If this is a dream or hallucination or something, I should be able to control it. She doesn't take long, but I can't decide if my thoughts had any effect.

She puts the water on the nightstand then comes and sits beside me.

"This feels very strange," she says to me.

"You've never taken a student to bed before?" I ask, waggling my eyebrows. She practically lifts me into the bed and tucks me under the sheets. She keeps her bedroom cool; I like it, it means I can snuggle in the blankets without getting too hot.

"I have not," she tells me, smoothing down the sheet beside me. I realise this is the first time I have ever been tucked into bed, at least that I remember. Maybe I was when I was a baby, too, but this is different, anyway. I smile up at her. If I were controlling the dream, she would kiss me now. She doesn't.

"Will you talk to me a bit more?" I ask. I can feel myself falling asleep and I know it's a strange question, but I also know we passed inappropriate hours ago and this might be my only chance. I don't want to give up the sound of her voice. It all feels so intimate, so private, I want to wrap up every moment and hold them close to my heart.

She settles on the couch, picking up the book and her glasses from the armrest. She tucks her legs under her; I hope she can't see how intently I am watching her.

"What about?"

I sink deeper into the bed. Her bed. It's amazingly comfortable.

"Why did you really stop being a mayor?" I ask.

She laughs loudly. "That really bothers you, huh?" I wait for her to answer. My breathing is slowing, I know I'm going to fall asleep. She can tell. "I'm afraid it's too personal a story for right now. But ask me again someday, and I'll tell you."

I don't say anything else, I almost fall asleep, but I remember something at the last moment.

"Thank you," I mumble.

"You're very welcome."

And that's the last thing I hear before I drift off into oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up and for a good five minutes I have no idea where I am. I'm pretty used to the feeling - when you spend your childhood being bounced from one foster home to another, you get over expecting consistency. I'm still scared, though. I force myself to breathe evenly, dispelling the panic that swells in my chest. I blink a couple times as I sit up in bed, a huge, soft, majestic bed that I have all to myself. Maybe I'm still dreaming. I look around at the palatial room that I've found myself in. And that's when I see her.

Regina Mills, my politics professor slash drunken saviour (me being the drunk, her being the saviour), curled up on her couch in nothing but a silk nightgown. She has a blanket but she must have kicked it off during the night. At this point I see the window - it's still dark. Nowhere near morning. I look around for a clock; there's one on the nightstand so I see that it's 2am.

Thats when I realise I'm going to throw up. I catapult myself out of bed and scramble for the bathroom, not even closing the door before I collapse over the toilet and spew my guts out. I didn't know I had that many guts. I'm vaguely aware that there's someone behind me; to my shock they come right into the room, sweep my hair up behind my head, and rub my back as I continue to throw up. When I'm utterly drained I turn around and slump against the wall to see my sleepy looking professor complete with bleary eyes and a wild bedhead. She hands me a tissue to wipe my mouth, then wipes around the toilet seat and flushes it. She's like Mary Poppins, a click of her fingers and mess disappears.

I come to my senses and it's the first time I'm in her house and sober. I try not to embarrass myself any further but I realise it's a bit of a lost cause.

"I... Uhm... Shit," I say. She laughs.

"Don't worry about it. How are you feeling?"

"Better. But I should go."

I stagger to my feet but she shakes her head.

"Emma, it's the middle of the night."

"Yeah, but I'm fine now. Really, I want to go."

I'm compulsively independent. There's nothing I'd like more than to get back into Regina's luxurious bed, but somehow I feel that I can't. It's partly an awareness that if I stay any longer, maybe I'll never manage to leave. But it's also a distrust of anything good or kind. There's no such thing as a free lunch. People don't do things for you just because they're nice. There's always more to it.

Regina narrows her eyes at me.

"Bed," she says. "As your teacher and your superior, I insist."

She's teasing, but her no nonsense tone suggests she's pretty determined that I do what she says.

"My superior?" I ask, pretending to be incredulous.

"Absolutely," she tells me. "Superior in EVERY way."

It might be my imagination but I think I detect a flicker in her eyes of something extremely interesting.

"We'll see about that," I reply. She escorts me back to bed, sitting on the edge of it as I climb under the sheets.

"You're very good at this. Cleaning people up."

"I've had practice," she admits.

"Who?"

"Me."

"Oh." I can't think of anything else to say. I want to ask what happened to her, I want her to explain the darkness behind her eyes, but I know that she won't. She might be being nice to me, but she hasn't gone soft and gooey overnight.

I have this weird impulse to lean against her and curl up in her arms. I feel like she wants to hold me too. Now that we're silent there's nothing in the room but this charge between us and it's driving me crazy. I know I should be tired but sleeping is the last thing I want to do right now. We both move a little closer together, feeling each other's warmth. But suddenly, she jumps off the bed.

"Emma, I can't," she says, returning to her professor voice. Her posture even changes, hardening as she distances herself from me. I try not to be disappointed. I'm not surprised. I know it's a mess, a mess that I am not worth. I don't want seem like I feel sorry for myself; I don't. I just know, I'm not the sort of person to end up with someone like Regina Mills, and I wouldn't be even if she weren't my professor.

"I know," I tell her. She looks at me, evaluating my reaction. She opens her mouth to speak, but seems to change her mind.

"You should sleep," she says in the end.

"You were going to say something else," I tell her. She nods.

"Yes. But it is better for both of us that I did not."

"Will you do something for me?" I ask.

"What?"

"Don't lie to me. I know that… I know that this is weird. I'm in your _bed_. But just… you're being so kind and I don't want to take advantage of that. I want you to tell me what you actually think."

She purses her lips for a moment. "I'll make you a deal. I will not lie to you, if you promise not to lie to me."

I take too long to answer. I don't answer, actually. Not before she speaks again.

"What do you have to lie to me about?"

I shrug. "I lie to everyone," I say. "It's… better." I use her word. She notices.

"There are many things about me that nobody knows. I confess, I would have made the deal and still avoided telling you those. But I can still promise, for all intents and purposes, that I will not _lie_."

I tilt my head to one side. "Okay. I guess I can say the same."

She turns off the light and sits on the couch. It's abrupt, it feels strange.

"Goodnight, Emma," she says softly.

"Goodnight, Regina," I reply.

I wake up again a few hours later. This time I manage not to cause any disturbance; I pull on my shorts but end up keeping Regina's t-shirt - my shirt from the previous day has beer on it. I find a pad of paper by the phone and scribble a quick note, then creep out of the house. As I begin the long walk back to campus, I wonder if I've made a terrible mistake. I consider the note now waiting for Regina on her kitchen counter. After much deliberation, I wrote "See you Saturday". I'm worried she'll find it cheeky, I wish I'd said thank you or sorry or at least something to show emotion. But I've never been good at emotion and she doesn't seem to be either. I tell myself she'll get it. And then I look down at the stolen t-shirt I'm wearing. It's one of those shapeless ones you get at rallies and giveaways. Or in this case, running marathons for charity.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I creep into my dorm room to find it empty. M might skin me alive if she finds out I spent a night out of dorms and I don't tell her where I was. I hope she's having fun with David. I go to grab a shower but when I get back I can't resist changing into Regina's shirt again. It makes me feel close to her. I feel like there's a lot she's not telling me but I can't come up with any solid theories. I just feel sure that there's more to her life than what I know about. And of course, that's totally normal. But I wish she'd tell me more.

I decide to go for a run, despite just having showered, and reluctantly remove Regina's shirt in favour of my sports bra. I get to my beach in almost record time, then put myself through a torturous routine of core strengthening exercises. It's always been important for me to be strong. Not so much for the last few years, but the habit's been hard to break. And now I know that Regina runs too. I grin, enjoying the idea that she has stamina.

When I get back, M's home, fresh from the shower, glowing from a night of sickening adorableness (and so much sex it's not even fair) with her boyfriend.

"You're up early," she comments. She has a point. I'm rarely out of bed before noon, unless I have class or work.

"Had some energy to burn," I offer with a sweaty shrug. I grab my towel and head to the showers again. I vaguely remember Regina's bathroom. It was like peeing and puking in heaven. Dorm bathrooms are how I imagine prison, except worse because at least women in prison would be badass. College girls squeal. It's not cute.

When I get back M's holding my phone gleefully.

"You have a message from someone named Regina," she says, grinning wickedly. I thank all the Gods I changed my passcode, snatch my phone back, and check the message.

_What I have in mind is a fair distance away. Is 8AM tomorrow too early? I will pick you up at your dorm. Wear comfortable shoes._

Shit, I say to myself. It's already Friday. Then I smile.

_I'll make it._

I type "Can't wait," but delete the words again. I feel as if I have to hold something back. I can't tell her everything, I can't be too eager. Not when she's so… So professional. Yeah, so she had me in her house, she looked after me, but… It was like it was her job. Like she was refusing to get close to me.

Suddenly I'm mad. M notices; she raises her eyebrows.

"Not a good message?"

I sigh.

"It was a good message. She's gonna take me somewhere tomorrow. But… I don't know."

"Don't know what?"

"What I'm doing. What I want. Anything."

I vault up onto my bed and flop down on my stomach. M asks me something else but I don't even hear it, I just groan into my pillow as I wonder what to wear tomorrow. My hangover eats up most of the day; I crawl out of bed and away from Netflix to eat something in the caf for dinner. M's there with a bunch of other friends but I don't really talk. It's not that I don't like them, I just don't feel like I have anything to add. They're talking about awesome arty vacations they've taken. LA's the nicest place I've ever been. I smile and nod and eat my pasta pretending I haven't seen how it's made.

I wonder what Regina's doing today. Staying home and reading? But she doesn't seem the type. I wonder what I would do in her position. Smart, rich, beautiful... Okay, yeah, I know I'm not bad looking, whatever, and I have a brain, obviously, or I wouldn't be here. Regina and I aren't really so different. She's older, but age is just a number. And she has more money, but money doesn't mean anything really. I smile at this. There's no reason why she and I shouldn't be friends. I choose to ignore my desires that definitely extend beyond friendship. Friends. There's nothing wrong with a professor and a student being friends.

"What's on your mind, dreamy?"

I roll my eyes at Ruby, M's other best friend.

"Nothing."

Ruby studies Vet Med and has an aversion to clothes that cover more than 5% of her body.

"There can't be _nothing_ on your mind. No one has nothing on their mind."

"Sure they do," I counter. "Like radio static. I can just sit here, auto-eating, and think about nothing. It's awesome."

This is technically true. I wasn't doing it just now, but Ruby _really_ doesn't need to know that. I glare at M to make sure she knows what I was actually thinking about is not a joking matter.

"I'm never thinking about nothing. As soon as my head gets empty of other stuff, I start thinking about-"

Her smug smile and glance in the direction of a table of football players and cheerleaders says enough. M interrupts her.

"I wish I could think about nothing."

"Does thinking about books count as nothing?"

That's Belle. She studies literature.

"Only if they have blank pages," I decide. She smiles. I like Belle. She's quiet and she doesn't push people. She doesn't take shit, either, but she accepts you for who you are.

"I think it's just that Em has a guy's brain. Guys think about nothing all the time," Neal pipes up. Neal is undeclared, he does random courses like beer brewing and Greek theater. He asks me out about once a month.

"Wouldn't that make you gay?" Ruby asks him.

"What'd be wrong with that?" he says, smirking as we all laugh.

"I can't have a guy's brain. If I had a guy's brain I wouldn't have these." I point at my chest. Neal concedes with an appreciative nod.

"Do guys really think about nothing?" M asks.

"Oh, yeah," butts in Killian. He's not really our friend, but he hangs out with Neal because they sail together. He asks me out once a fortnight. But their rivalry just strengthens their friendship, largely because I have no intention of going out with either of them.

"Our brains are simpler than yours," he says, as if this is something to be incredibly proud of. "They're much better at resting."

I'm starting to wish that I did have a guy's brain. Especially after we leave the cafeteria and I'm lying in bed, totally unable to relax and go to sleep. I give up, finding a book and the head torch I use for running - I don't want to bother M with too much light.

The book's an old favourite, _Carmilla_ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. Gothic lesbian erotica. What a guy. Of course, being from 1871, the erotica leaves a lot to the imagination, but it's a short book, you can read it in one evening, and I love the old language and powerful female characters. As I read it, I find myself picturing me as the heroine, Laura, and Regina as Carmilla, the devastatingly beautiful (and evil) vampire. On a whim, when I finish the book I shove it in my backpack for the next day so I can lend it to Regina. It's not that well known; I have a feeling she'll like it. I wonder if literature could be a passion, but I don't feel _passionate_ about the book. I just like it, I like that it takes me into another world that's very different from my own, I like that not everything has to make sense or be real…

With a sigh, I settle onto my pillow and force myself to do nothing, to fill my head with radio static and at least rest my eyes even if I'm not going to sleep.

* * *

 _I am outside_.

I take a deep breath and count to ten, pretending I haven't been ready for almost an hour. I take one last look in the mirror, adjusting my ponytail and tugging on my blouse. It's white and frilly, it's actually M's but I know she won't mind. She takes my clothes all the time. It doesn't quite meet the waistband of my shorts. I don't know why I feel self conscious. Loads of my outfits show my stomach; I run in a bra for crying out loud! But this feels different somehow. I wriggle my feet in my sneakers (obedient for once) and grab my backpack, bounding downstairs and out of the building.

I can see Regina's car, the roof's up this time. I grin. I can't actually see if she's grinning back but I tell myself she is and stride over, trying to seem confident and comfortable. When I get in the car, I see how nervous she looks. I frown at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing…" she lies. "Okay, I… I like to keep my private life private. I didn't want to let you down today, we're still going to go, but… If it's okay with you, the trip might have a third participant."

My mind is racing, trying to figure out who she wants to bring. A boyfriend? A girlfriend? Another student? I've never heard her stumble so much over her words. I remember I'm lucky to be with her at all, and in no position to oppose any of her plans.

"Of course it's okay with me," I say, going for bright and breezy. I flash her a smile. She gives me a tiny one in return, then pulls out of the parking lot and into the road, staring straight ahead.

"This is a long story," she says, biting her lip, "but I want to tell you."

I wait. I don't want to push her.

"I was married, when I lived in Storybrooke. It was a political thing, I did it partially to look good, I was fresh out of college and everything seemed to make sense. I wouldn't have been elected Mayor without Robin by my side. And he was a good man. And Robin and I had a son, Henry. For the first year we were a beautiful, happy family. But then Henry got sick. Robin seemed to… I later learned that there was another woman. But at the time it seemed to be all about Henry. He couldn't cope with the idea that his perfect boy was, in fact, not perfect. I hated him for it. And then Henry got sicker. Robin and I divorced, and I brought Henry here… He has to live in hospital a lot of the time. I visit him every day when he's there. I'm not allowed to spend the night. He's five now, such a trooper. I was with him yesterday, and the time I didn't answer the phone. He's why I'm so good at caring for people, I suppose. But he's better!"

Her face lights up when she says this, in fact, when she talks about her son. Her pride is obvious. Her story, or his, is nothing like what I expected, but when I think about it, it makes perfect sense. Even the cancer t-shirt.

"They told me yesterday that I can take him home today. Nothing too stressful, probably only a few nights - I have to take him back if there are any signs of deterioration. But… He's who I want to bring. I told him about you, he knows who you are."

"What does he have?" I ask, not wanting to be nosy but needing to know.

"Leukemia. We're almost there, the children's hospital… It's one of the best in the world, it's why I took the job - if I work for the university, his treatment here is covered."

I'm about to ask why she keeps him a secret, but I realise before I do that she doesn't. No one ever asked. It's kind of horrifying how little I know about my professors. I realise that I don't know if any of mine are parents. I don't know where they live, where they're from, what they like or dislike. I joke about thinking they're robots but that is how I treat them, it's how everyone treats them.

She parks behind the hospital and we get out of the car. I'm terrified. I love kids, I'm great with them, but sick kids… They just make me want to cry. I follow Regina into the hospital. She knows it well, she seems to know most of the members of staff by name. I stay silent, breathing in the disinfectant fumes and listening to the squeak of my sneakers on the polished floor.

Suddenly Regina stops and turns to face me.

"I was going to introduce you to him," she says abruptly. "Not today, but if it went well… He is my number one passion. My inspiration. I don't want you to think that we're only here by chance, or because I have to be."

I don't answer right away. I'm glad, though. I'm glad she wants me to know her.

"I'm very happy to be here," I tell her. "And I know you don't want to hide him away. You want to keep him safe."

She nods. Then her eyes narrow.

"If you breathe a word of this softer side of Professor Mills to any of your classmates, there will be hell to pay," she says sternly. I just grin at her.

We walk again, side by side now. I feel slightly less nauseous than a few minutes ago.

The children's ward is painted a cheerful yellow, with pictures and posters covering the walls. I'm still looking around when a cannonball dressed in a hospital gown and a blue bandana charges into Regina screaming "MOMMA".

Regina lifts up her child, holding him close. He's small for his age. He peers over her shoulder at me.

"You're Emma," he says, narrowing his eyes exactly like his mother does.

"And you're Henry," I respond. We both assess the pros and cons of the other being present on our day with Regina. The pros win on both sides. I'm quite relieved.

Regina sets Henry down on a hospital bed in a corner which is clearly his. There are a lot of books. I approve. Also on the bed is a bulging blue backpack, and a blue plush dragon.

"Jet," Henry says by way of introduction. "Momma, can we go now?"

Regina opens the little closet and takes out some clothes.

"As soon as you're dressed, dear."

Henry rolls his eyes.

"I _am_ dressed."

"Dressed like a normal," Regina amends. Henry scrunches up his face as if in disgust. Regina echoes this. I wonder what the joke is.

"Normals are much more boring than people like Henry, don't you think?" Regina whispers. I catch on.

"But wait, doesn't that make us normals?"

Regina chuckles. "Not me. I have gowns, for when I stay here longer than a few minutes. I guess the jury's still out on you."

"The way we dress can't be the only way we're defined," I say teasingly. Regina laughs.

"Honestly it's mostly about Henry's approval."

Henry struggles into some shorts and a t-shirt. I see that he has a central line neatly taped to his chest. He catches me looking.

"It's so they don't have to stick me with needles," he informs me. "You should get one."

I decide that I love this kid.

"I don't think they'd let me," I tell him.

Regina helps him get his shoes on. A nurse brings us a wheelchair. It's not a hospital one. It has dragon wings on the back. Henry gives it a glare.

"I can walk," he says firmly.

"I know," Regina says. "But imagine how the chair would feel if we left it behind! It wants adventures too."

I dump the bag in the chair.

"High up carry?" Henry asks Regina pleadingly.

"I thought you said you could walk," she jokes.

"I _can_. That doesn't mean I have to."

"You're getting too big for this," she continues. Henry makes huge puppy eyes.

"Momma, I have cancer," he says, horribly serious. She raises her eyebrows, then catches my eye.

"He learned that from the other children here. Henry, it's not nice to do that, even if you're joking."

Henry looks guilty. Regina taps him on the nose and lifts him onto her shoulders. He tugs her hair.

"Forward, Momma-Dragon!"

Regina checks with the nurse that it's alright for us to leave, then heads out of the hospital. I push the wheelchair, trying to make it look super fun. It's actually not that hard. We get back to the car and Regina expertly fits the wheelchair and backpack into the trunk. The woman must be a master at tetris. She straps Henry into the middle of the back seat so he can see what's going on, and together they decide it's hot enough to put the roof down. Regina passes Henry some sunglasses; he puts them on and pouts like a pro.

It's the last straw. I start laughing hysterically, my whole body shaking with it. It's the surprise, the bizarre, awful, wonderful situation. I'm sitting in a sports car with my professor and her terminally ill child, being handed superstar sunglasses about to drive off on an adventure. I don't even know where we're going. Regina seems to detect a hint of the manic in my laughter. She turns to me, then rests her hand on the side of my seat so her pinkie brushes against mine. Her touch calms me, it's inexplicable, I just… I settle into my seat and into easy conversation with mother and son. With Regina as my anchor, I actually feel like I belong there.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm burning with questions. Half an hour with Henry and I'm already heartbreakingly invested. I need to know everything. Exactly how his illness is manifesting, what he needs, how he's being treated, how I can help… But I can't say anything because I'm just her student or maybe just her friend but I really did just meet the kid and she didn't really want me to and God this is so weird for both of us and-

"We're here!"

Henry's excited scream pulls me out of my panic. So where exactly is here?

"I had to alter the plan a little. We were going to go hiking. But you can be a guest on our season ticket instead."

 _Disneyland._ I gasp. I try to hide it.

"I'm sorry it's such a childish thing to do, you'll probably be bored-"

"Regina," I interrupt. "Coming here has been my _dream_. Since I was, like, THREE." I look around at Henry. "Kid, we're going to Disneyland!"

He laughs. "I've been before," he tells me. "But I can show you all the best things."

I look at Regina. "Isn't it expensive-"

"Season ticket," she reminds me. "It's all free. We even get a meal."

Henry is wriggling in his seat. "It's because I have cancer," he informs me. I quite like the way he says it so proudly. Also, it makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. Regina's expression suggests she feels the same way.

We get out of the car and wrestle the wheelchair onto solid ground. Regina gives Henry a _look_ and he rolls his eyes at her but gets in and does up the strap without help. Jet is tucked inside the strap too.

"Emma push me!" Henry demands. Regina clears her throat.

"Emma, please will you push my chair?" Henry asks me sweetly. I just want to hug him, he's so cute.

"Sure thing, little man," I tell him.

The chair's not heavy; I push it easily. Regina walks beside us, chatting with her son. She's so light when she's with him, there's hardly a trace of sadness. I don't know if I could do it. I know I couldn't do what she does, keeping a job to get her son the best healthcare available. I love her more and more- Wait, no, I mean, as a friend. I love her more and more as a FRIEND the more I get to know her.

We're still wearing our sunglasses; Regina flashes the season ticket and we're given coded wristbands.

"So was this, like, that Make a Wish thing?" I ask.

Regina shakes her head. "Henry has yet to use his wish, but Disneyland is considered pretty tame at CHLA, especially since all long term child patients have unlimited access anyway."

"I want to be a dragon," Henry tells me. "But the wish people can't do that."

"That sucks," I say. "But dragons have to live their lives in hiding. What about your Momma?"

"She'd be a dragon _too_ ," he tells me, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ah, right. Of course."

"Do you want to be a dragon?"

We're approaching a ride now. I'm trying not to jump up and down with excitement. It's all so _pretty_.

"Like, with you and your Momma?"

"Yeah. Sometimes we're dragons already. When I get the meds that make me sick, it's actually breathing fire. 'Cause it burns in my throat."

" _Genius_ ," I mouth at Regina.

"I can roar like a dragon," Henry adds. He proceeds to demonstrate, scaring several nearby fairytale characters.

"Momma's is better though," he says, looking slyly at Regina. She sighs.

"The things I do for you, my dear," she teases. Then she gives the most dragon like roar I've ever heard. Children actually _run_ from us.

I'm splitting my sides laughing.

"Your turn!" Henry instructs.

"Give me a minute," I wheeze. I get myself together, knowing I have a hard act to follow. Then I walk around the chair, look Henry right in the eyes, and give him my best roar.

It feels fucking amazing. I look up at Regina, who grins at me.

"It's fun, no?" she says.

"Who are you and what have you done with my mean college professor?" I ask, grinning back.

"Is Momma mean at work?" Henry asks, sounding rather horrified.

"Oh, yeah, she's _horrible_. When I first saw her in class I almost wet my pants."

Regina glares at me. I'm kind of relieved the glare is back. We jump the line to the ride. Something about the wheelchair. Everyone waiting must hate us, especially since Henry jumps right out of it and into his seat at the front of the roller coaster without any help. It's the biggest "kiddie" one.

There are three seats so we're in a row with Henry in the middle.

"I have to grow," he tells me. "I'm not tall enough for the best rides."

"This one is pretty awesome though," I say.

"I like the water one best, but Momma won't let me go on that first because she doesn't want to be wet all day."

"She has a point, don't you think?"

"It's hot. We'd dry."

I shrug. Both arguments are good. The ride starts, cranking us up to the top. I'm actually pretty scared - this is my first ever roller coaster. Henry looks at me, then at his mom.

"Momma, I think Emma's sick," he says. Regina looks over at me. I make the a-okay sign with my hand, keeping my mouth firmly closed. Regina laughs. Bitch.

And then the ride takes off and Henry's giggling with delight and Regina's grinning like she's flying and I feel like my stomach's still back in the car and we're whirling through the air and adrenaline pumps through my veins and it's such a rush it's like sex only infinitely less complicated and I'm with two perfect people in a perfect world soaring through the air and I grab Henry's hand instinctively and yell,

"LET'S BE DRAGONS!"

and he totally gets it and so does Regina and she takes his other hand and we all roar into the sunshine and I've never felt so free in my life.

"Wow," I say as we wobble off the ride a couple of minutes later. Henry walks beside the chair as I push it. He takes Regina's hand. I watch them, beaming. I can't believe that I get to be here too.

We go on countless rides, we meet Mickey and Minnie, and a ton of other Disney things. Regina likes the villains. Henry likes the dragons. I like _everything_. A street vendor passes and Regina buys Henry a sword. I realise too late that she's buying me one as well.

"Not to imply you are a child," she says, chuckling, "but he needs a sparring partner, don't you think?"

I grin and she's about to hand it to me when Henry stops her.

"You have to knight us first."

Regina laughs.

"Hey, wait," I say, running back to the vendor. I buy a plastic tiara, it's the best the guy has.

I put it on Regina's head, pretending not to notice the electric impulses I feel, pretending it's an accident when I brush her cheek with my thumb.

"Kneel," she commands us. We kneel on the sidewalk.

"I dub thee, Sir Henry, and thee, Sir Emma, as knights of my Queendom. Rise and accept your weapons."

She hands us the swords. Henry seems kind of tired, but determined to hide it. I wonder how to get him into the chair. I shove my sword into my belt loop.

"Your steed awaits, Sir Henry."

He looks at the chair. "I can walk," he says quietly. Regina kneels down to his level.

"I know you can, love, but you're tired and you want to have energy so you can stay at our house and we can have another adventure tomorrow."

Henry nods, smiling at the idea of staying at home. He gets into the chair, visibly sighing with relief. Regina strokes his hair and hands him a bottle of water from her purse.

The rest of the day is quieter. We get some food, then go watch the movie in the 3D theater. We leave in the late afternoon; Henry falls asleep in the car on the way back to Regina's. I wonder what to say. I feel tired and sticky, just like a kid. Regina focuses on the road. When we get back I help her take Henry inside. Sober this time, I notice the neatly put away but still apparent evidence that a child lives here sometimes. We get to his room, which contains several monitoring machines. Regina expertly connects them without even waking Henry. I just hover, watching, unsure what to do. I think I should leave, but somehow I can't bring myself to go.

Regina leads the way into the living room.

"I'm sorry, I should have dropped you at your dorm, but I wanted a chance to talk to you first," she says. We sit on her couch, facing each other, trying not to think about elephants.

"Thank you for bringing me," I blurt out too quickly. "I… I had a great time."

"Thank you for coming. And for accepting him. He can be… Difficult to cope with."

"I don't know what you mean," I say, smiling. "He's an awesome kid."

"He has years, at least," she says, answering the unanswered question. "Especially if we find a marrow donor. Right now I donate blood for him if he needs it, but I'm only a half match for his marrow. He's not at the transplant stage yet, but…" She trails off, stopping herself.

"I don't mind if you talk about it," I tell her. "I want to know. I mean, if you want to tell me. You should have someone to talk to."

"There's a parents group at the hospital," she tells me. "I should talk there. But I've only been once. I hated them, they were all so… So whiney. I don't want to whine. I want to enjoy my son."

"I… You guys are amazing," I say, knowing it sounds lame. I can't think of anything else.

"You're not so bad yourself, Miss Swan," she says, chuckling.

"What do _you_ do for fun?" I ask her suddenly.

"What do you mean? I do things like today."

"But that's for Henry."

"All my free time is for Henry."

"He's sleeping right now. He's all good."

Regina sighs. "I know what you mean. But… Nothing. Until I met you," she blushes, "I never even invited anyone over. I don't know how to socialise. I was never very good at it, even before I had him. And now… How am I supposed to be a girlfriend, a friend even, when all my time is spent working or caring for my terminally ill child?"

Her voice breaks when she says terminally. I grip her hand.

"You _are_ a friend. You're my friend. And kids get better. Lots of kids get better. He can, too."

"Too much hope does more harm than good."

"In the future, maybe. But right now, I want to be idiotically optimistic. Live in the moment. All that jazz."

"Am I… Do you really see me as your friend?"

I think she's flattered, so I give her a cheesy grin. "Yup. What? Am I not yours?"

Regina leans back into the couch. "I just… I haven't had a friend in an embarrassingly long time. And even when I did, I don't think we had the sort of friendship you and I have."

There it is. That suggestion. I don't know what to say, I don't know how to bring it up. She's so soft and quiet, so human, and so beautiful, beautiful _inside_ … It makes me want to cry.

"Regina, I… I'm ashamed to have written that stupid essay when I knew so little about you. I wrote the truth but I wanted to piss you off, I wanted to challenge you but now… Now I just want to know you."

Regina looked at me, _into_ me.

"Emma… Emma, we can't."

"Why?" I whisper.

"Because I am your teacher."

"So what?"

"So, it is… frowned upon."

I lean into her couch. "Tell me you don't want to and I'll stop asking. I'll write you an essay, about something appropriate, and you never have to worry about me again. But just so you know, that would be the coward's way out."

"You think I am a coward?" She's getting mad now. I'm almost pleased.

"You're afraid to be happy. How much more cowardly can you get?"

She grits her teeth. "I am not afraid to be happy. I am simply a little busy with-"

"Henry, yeah. I get it. I do. But you know what? I reckon the kid wants you to be happy too. After today, I want you both to be happy. I want to see you both, all the time. I can't imagine what you must have gone through, what you must go through every day, but today, for the first time, I felt like I was a part of something, a part of something good, and if you're too scared to follow that where it leads then yeah, Regina, I think you're a coward."

I say most of my speech to the window opposite us, shaking with nerves, with anger, with fear that she'll (rightly) kick me out of her house and never see me again.

"You are rude. You have been constantly rude. You cross lines, you make me uncomfortable," she stands from the couch, "and you seem to have absolutely no regard for any feelings that contradict your own. You are loud, you say inappropriate things, you tempt me and tease me even though you know it could cost me my job, you flaunt yourself, your beautiful self, in front of me and God knows you must know what you do to me. You sit there criticising me when you could have _everything._ Yes, Emma Swan. EVERYTHING. You are smart and funny and gorgeous and you have a place at UCLA and I am so, so sorry for the ways that you have suffered but you do not have to suffer any more. You tell me I am afraid to be happy and then you come after ME. Me, a woman almost ten years older than you, a woman with a very sick child, a woman who is battered and broken in ways you cannot even imagine and you sit there in front of me telling me you want me and I… I cannot believe that _you_ believe that I could possibly make you happy.

"Furthermore, you are horrifically inconsiderate. Because you are here, you are still here, and Emma, you were wonderful today. Henry was happier, I was happier, it was as if a weight had been lifted and I try, I always try with him but today I didn't even have to try because you were there and it was like a dream, a dream that someone as wonderful as you would want to spend a day with me."

She pauses for breath. She's so passionate, her shoulders rise and fall with unsteady breathing and I stand and I look at her, right in the eyes, and say,

"I want a lot more than a day."

She stares back. I think when I stood up she'd expected me to leave. And now we're just standing here, frozen in an impossible situation with nothing and everything to say. We've both run out of words. We've both run out of patience. It has been a very long semester.

"I am many things," Regina says, so quietly she's barely speaking. "But I am not a coward."

And then her lips are an inch away from mine and I don't even think about it, I just slam my mouth into hers and use my lips and tongue and teeth in a desperate attempt to tell her everything I never managed to say. Her hands slip around my waist and she holds me close and I close my eyes tight shut and try to stop the world, right there in her arms, because I know, I just know, that I am never going to be happier than in this moment.


	5. Chapter 5

_And then her lips are an inch away from mine and I don't even think about it, I just slam my mouth into hers and use my lips and tongue and teeth in a desperate attempt to tell her everything I never managed to say. Her hands slip around my waist and she holds me close and I close my eyes tight shut and try to stop the world, right there in her arms, because I know, I just know, that I am never going to be happier than in this moment._

I press myself against Regina, tentatively placing my hands on her back. I've imagined doing this countless times, but now I'm here I'm almost worried I can't. It's as if there's a barrier that I have to overcome, a barrier of all our differences and all my fears. But as her mouth moves against mine it's as if we blast the barrier into oblivion. I kiss her for all I'm worth, I kiss her as she deserves to be kissed, worshipping her mouth, her lips, and then her jaw, her neck. She gasps with pleasure, twisting a hand in my hair, pulling out my ponytail. I explore her body with my fingers, edging them under the thin fabric of her shirt. Touching her skin sends sparks shooting up from my fingertips.

This is a woman. A teacher. A mother. She's power and love and imperfection and sensitivity and I am... I am hers. I long to be. I want to give up everything of my old self, everything that's scared. I run, I fight, I resist. I've never trusted anyone but I want more than anything to trust her. I want to show her I trust her. I want her to trust me.

And I want her to fuck my brains out. I'm so attracted to her I think I might explode if she doesn't rip my clothes off soon. Her vulnerability is all but gone, she pushes me back onto the couch and straddles my lap, pausing to catch my eye until I nod like an excited puppy and she pulls her shirt over her head. I cup her breasts as she leans down to kiss me, running my thumbs over her lace covered nipples and grinning into her mouth as she mewls with pleasure. She thrusts her hips forward. The pressure is on my abdomen rather than where I want it most, but I still gasp wantonly and move my hands around to her ass, pulling her closer. She kissed me even harder, our breasts rub together and I really, really need to take my clothes off.

I struggle out of my shirt and then, feeling ridiculously in control of a woman whose job it is to tell _me_ what to do, I undo the clasp of her slacks. She lets out a low growl, but it fades into something less certain. I can feel her starting to pull away, though she seems very reluctant. I let her. I let her go, sighing as she leans back and adjusts her bra strap.

She still doesn't have anything to say, nothing I haven't thought of myself. She just looks at me, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated with desire.

"I can leave," I tell her, feigning nonchalance. She raises an eyebrow at my fake-chill tone, but then she sighs again.

"I think that might be a good idea," she admits. "But only because I want to do this right. You deserve so much more than a quick fuck on my couch after an emotional roller coaster of a day."

I love the way she says fuck. It's hard for me to think about anything else. I struggle for an appropriate answer but I'm a little preoccupied by her still-open pants and her gorgeous chest that's right at my eye level. I lean back against the couch, covering my face with my hands, trying to think.

"I… Thank you," I say, wishing it didn't sound so awkward.

"Let me take you out," Regina suggests. "For a meal, then maybe dancing..?"

She sounds so nervous; I take my hands down and smile at her.

"I love dancing," I say. "I'm terrible. But I love it."

"Sounds promising," she teases. "So that's okay?"

"Yeah. It is."

"I can… I have to stay here, but I can call you a cab."

"Now?"

She catches my drift immediately, then does up her pants, laughs, and leans down to kiss me again.

"I suppose there's no harm in-"

She's cut off by an alarm-like sound coming from upstairs.

"Shit!"

She's off my lap before I can blink. She doesn't even put her shirt on, she runs straight up to Henry's room. She doesn't seem panicked, just determined. I follow her, definitely panicking. I also neglect to put on my shirt.

I don't know if I should go in but in the end I can't help myself. I don't know what the machines mean but the one that shows his heart rate is flashing scarily fast. I read his temperature. I'm pretty sure anything above 100 is freak out worthy. The machine says 106. Regina takes a writhing Henry out of bed.

"108 Mifflin Street. That's the address. Call 911, tell them Henry Mills, a registered Leukemia patient, just spiked a fever."

I'm already dialling. I do as she says, trying to keep my voice clear and even. As I do so, Regina's examining her son's body. I hear a tiny gasp as she checks his back. I look. The lower half is covered with a huge, dark bruise. I'm still on the phone.

"Possible internal bleeding," Regina tells me. I repeat this. They say the ambulance is on its way. Regina kisses Henry's head. I think he's crying.

"You're gonna be just fine, sweetie."

She carries him to her room, stepping into some shoes and putting him on her bed for a moment so she can pull on a sweater. I take his hand.

"Emma?" he whispers.

"Hey, kid," I say weakly.

"Emma, are you coming with us?"

I look at Regina. Her mouth is set in a firm line. She seems absolutely resolved not to break down. I think she might need me to hold her hand too.

"Can I?" I ask. She nods.

"Please," she whispers.

She picks up an already packed holdall from the corner of her room, then hoists Henry back onto her hip. I use my initiative and grab Henry's backpack from his room, and at the last second, I remember to grab Jet as well. I realise I'm still in my bra. I follow them downstairs and yank my shirt back on. I can hear a siren.

Regina opens the front door and we go outside, meeting the medics. They grab Henry; Regina looks lost as they strap him to the bed. We sit where we're told. I take Regina's hand and she grips my fingers so hard I think she might be breaking my hand. I'm very glad she does - I hold on to her just as tightly.

Regina and the medics talk in a bunch of jargon I don't understand. It's only a few minutes until we're at the hospital; they unload us and take Henry into a room. We follow. A doctor asks more things; Regina answers. They give Henry something to knock him out so he won't be scared, his fever's so high he's almost losing consciousness anyway, it's been rising, and then we're shooed out of the room.

It's horrifying how well Regina knows the drill. She leads the way to Henry's ward, pulling the curtain around his bed to give us some privacy. She sets everything down, then looks at the one armchair.

"I'll be right back," she mutters.

She returns after a minute carrying another chair. She sets up Henry's bed, tucking Jet in as if he were alive. She even pats his head. She sorts out the things from her bag, taking some out, putting some away. She opens a closet and takes out a hospital gown. Then she goes back and takes out another one.

I just stand there, watching, waiting to wake up from the nightmare. I'm still on her couch, Henry's sleeping upstairs, everything is fine and we're kissing. We _kissed_. I give myself a shake. Now is not the time to flip out. Regina takes the gowns and leads us out of the ward, the other kids are going to bed and we shouldn't disturb them. She goes into the ladies room. She still hasn't said anything. The door closes. We're alone. It's so bright, it feels weird. I feel as if everything should be dark. She hands me a gown.

"Only if you want," she says. "I always do it, so we match when he wakes up."

I stare at the pale blue garment in my hands.

"Regina, what just..?"

"He's going to be fine," she says firmly. She's telling herself as well as me.

She strips to her underwear and puts on the gown. Miraculous woman. She even looks hot in hospital clothes. I'm still standing there, looking at mine. She takes it out of my hands again, then takes both of my hands in hers.

"You can go," she says. "It's okay. I'll call you-"

"No!" I shout. "I'm not going anywhere." My eyes fill with tears and before I know it I'm sobbing in her arms, wracked with guilt because I should be the one comforting her and yet I'm bawling into her chest as she strokes my hair and tells me it's going to be okay. I cry for what seems like hours. She doesn't stop holding me. And then something clicks inside me and I pull away from her and put on my gown.

"Now what?" I ask. She smiles at me.

"Now, we wait. There's a family room. It has cable."

I laugh. I have to. It releases some of the tension. We go back to the ward and she takes her bag. She has a robe; she puts it on, then offers me her sweater, which I accept. It's not really cold, but something about the situation makes me want to be wrapped up.

The family room is nice, nicer than I expected. We sit on a couch and she turns on the TV, leaving the volume low. Regina plugs her phone in to charge. I have no idea where mine is. I borrow hers so I can send M a message on Facebook telling her I won't be back. Regina and I end up talking about the Kardashians. It's incredibly surreal. A nurse comes in and gives us coffee.

"He's in surgery," she tells Regina. "A cyst ruptured in his abdomen, causing some bleeding and an infection. It's a simple procedure to repair it, but the infection will mean we need to keep him in. His immune system is not doing great. And he's going to need a transfusion tomorrow."

Regina nods and the nurse leaves. I take a deep breath. He's going to be okay.

"Thank you for coming with me," Regina says suddenly. "I know it may not seem that way, but having you here is infinitely better than doing this alone."

I don't know how to answer. I'm glad, so glad I can be there for her. But I feel utterly helpless. I need to _do_ something. I'm okay now, I know the kid's going to be alright, but he's going to be in surgery for a while longer and we're just sitting here on this couch pretending to watch TV and avoiding everything we could possibly talk about. Especially the fact that a few hours ago we were on a different couch making out like a couple of teenagers. I can say that. I haven't been a teenager for more than a year.

I jump up from the couch.

"Come on."

She stares at me. "What?"

"We're going to play a game."

She rolls her eyes. "Emma, I am not in the mood for-"

I grab her hand and pull her up so she bumps into me. I grin at her expression, a confused, annoyed kind of arousal. She needs this. She needs not to be sad.

"Sure you're not," I say seductively. Then I jump back and look around the room. I look at us, in our bizarre hospital gown outfits. I think about what I used to do to entertain the younger kids in foster homes. We were often alone for long periods of time. Alone, hungry, scared… There are a lot of parallels. I used to come up with games we could play to pass the time. I loved imagining things.

I have an idea. I start pulling the furniture around a little to make sure it'll be possible.

"Emma, you cannot just-"

"I'll put it back. Right. Regina, have you ever played Sharks?"

She stares at me. "What on earth are you talking about?"

I jump up on the couch.

"Sharks. Basically, the floor is the ocean, full of giant snappy fish about to bite your tits off unless you get out of it."

She rolls her eyes and walks serenely to the couch, then stands on it.

"This is not much of a game."

I grin. "Now, we race each other around the room. First one to touch all four corners wins."

She looks at me, childish determination rising in her eyes. I knew she wouldn't be able to turn down a competition.

"This is ridiculous," she says to me in her most grown up voice. I leap from the couch to a bookcase against the wall, wobbling precariously but steadying myself.

"You just say that because you're gonna lose!"

She hops to the coffee table.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Miss Swan."

She's grinning now.

"Watch it, Regina. If you touch the floor, you die and you have to start over."

Her grin becomes positively evil as she jumps to my bookcase and shoves me to the floor. I writhe around, pretending to be eaten by sharks.

"You play _dirty_ , Professor Mills."

She's laughing, cackling, as I get back on the couch. She scrambles from the bookcase to a set of lockers just before I can jump and grab her, then she kind of topples onto an armchair in the corner. I launch myself towards her, ending up in a giggling heap in her lap. She moves to push me to the floor again but tickles me instead. I squeal, laughing so much there are tears in my eyes.

"Emma Swan sleeps with the fishes," she says as she lets me fall to the floor. I drag her down to.

"Only if you sleep with me," I say. I roll on top of her. For a moment we both think I'm going to kiss her, but at the last second I opt for tickling instead. She squawks with surprise, struggling to get away and back onto the chair.

"Hey, you have to start again! That's cheating."

"I do not play by your rules, Miss Swan."

I get up on the chair as well.

"Fine. You're still gonna lose."

She leaps onto the windowsill, narrowly avoiding smashing into the glass.

"I wouldn't be so sure…"

Neither of us manage the room surviving the sharks. We collapse on the couch, our imaginations exhausted. Then I have another idea. It's the middle of the night. The corridor beside us is dark and deserted. And there is an adult sized wheelchair just _sitting_ there. It's as if it's waiting for us.

I put my finger to my lips and leave the family room, creeping past wards of sleeping children to the chair. I beckon Regina. She follows me. I motion that she should sit. She shakes her head.

"You sit," she whispers.

"How do I know you won't kill me?"

"You don't," she says gleefully. It's her eyes. I can't resist them, not when they sparkle like that. I sit in the chair, putting my feet on the footrests so they're not in the way. Regina takes the handles of the chair and looks down the long corridor.

"Ready?" she asks. I can hear the wicked humour in her voice.

"No," I say, genuinely a little afraid for my life.

"Good!"

She charges forward, pushing the chair at top speed. I feel it rushing down the corridor; she swerves from side to side, narrowly avoiding carts full of supplies. She yanks the chair around the corner and I try not to scream-

And then we're right in front of the nurses station and she stops abruptly. I fall out of the chair. I'm still lying on the floor as she catches her breath and addresses the bemused nurses.

"We found this chair in the corridor. It was a horrific safety hazard, so we brought it back here for you to deal with."

Then she hoists me up, dusts me off, and marches me back around the corner where we collapse into another fit of giggles.

"That was amazing," I tell her. She looks inordinately proud.

We go back to the family room, deciding we should try to stay out of trouble. Or at least out of sight. I eye the vending machine.

"I'm hungry," I say.

"Me too."

I go up to it, examining the dispensation system.

"Every machine is different," I tell her, "but with the right motion," I grab the machine and start to rock it, "almost all of them can be tricked."

She watches as I successfully liberate a snickers bar. I retrieve it, open it, and break it in half.

"You're welcome," I say cockily.

"I had a dollar, you know."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"It wouldn't be illeg-"

"Eat your snickers."

She does as I say. We're on the couch again. I flop into her lap, not really thinking about it. I'm tired, she's comfy… I realise what I'm doing and try to sit up but she smiles and puts her arm around me.

"Go to sleep," she says softly. I close my eyes. She runs her fingers through my hair, soothing me. I feel myself drifting off to sleep…

When I wake up we're in a tangled mess on the couch. Regina snuffles in her sleep. I smile. She's adorable. Then I realise why I'm awake. The nurse from earlier has been shaking my shoulder.

"Henry's out of surgery," she tells me. I wonder why she didn't wake Regina. Then I figure out that Regina's scary. She'd have a million questions the nurse probably can't answer. I wouldn't want to wake the Momma Bear either. Not if I were a nurse. But I'm not, so I shake Regina awake just as the doctor comes in. She's alert in seconds.

"Henry's vitals are stable, but because of his weakened immune system, he is in a private, sterile room. You can see him," he adds quickly at the look on Regina's face. "You just have to scrub first. And it's family only."

The doctor says the last part looking pointedly at me.

"She is family," Regina says immediately. The doctor nods.

"Okay. If you both want to follow me?"

We walk after him. Everything's so weird in this place. We go down a maze of corridors and finally get to a bathroom.

"Go shower, and the nurse will give you scrubs to wear."

"We want gowns instead. It is important to my son."

The doctor shrugs as if to say "whatever" and we go to shower and change.

"He seems like an ass," I say from my cubicle.

"He is. I don't know him very well, he's not Henry's doctor. He's one of the surgeons. Henry and I call him Dr. Grumpypants."

I have to laugh. "Grumpypants? You call someone Grumpypants."

I hear her laughing too. "Well he _is_ a grumpypants," she defends. We change into scratchy disposable underwear and fresh gowns, then go into a kind of airlock where we're blasted with some kind of disinfecting stuff. We put on facemasks and hairnets and finally we're allowed into Henry's room.

He's awake. He giggles when he sees us.

"Momma, you look silly," he slurs.

"Regina, don't take it the wrong way but I think your kid has been getting high," I mutter. Regina laughs.

"That's the morphine. Hello, young man. How are you feeling?"

"Good," Henry says. I grin into my mask. Definitely high.

"Is that Emma?" he asks, sounding delighted that I might be there.

"Sure is, kiddo," I tell him.

"You're _not_ a normal," he says happily. I hold out my fist. He looks at it, confused.

"You punch it," I explain. "It's called a fist bump. It's what awesome friends do."

He raises his arm, he's pretty weak but he manages a passable fist bump. He lets out a sigh.

"I'm tired," he says. "And Momma, Grumpypants was here and I don't like him and I want my proper doctor back."

Regina ruffles his hair.

"Don't be a grumpypants yourself, love. But don't worry, remember, grumpypants is the surgeon. He just has to check on you a little. Dr. Robbins will be here later, she's still your real doctor."

"Arizona," he says happily. He looks at me. "She's pretty," he tells me. "Like you."

I grin into my mask again. "Thanks, Henry. You're not bad looking yourself.

We sit on the edge of the bed.

"When can I go back to my room?" Henry asks. He isn't whiny, he just wants to know what's going to happen.

"Well, last time it was after a couple of days, wasn't it?" Regina says to him.

"And Jet can't come in here," Henry says sadly.

"No, I'm afraid not. But Emma's here and she's almost as good as Jet, don't you think?"

Henry giggles. "Almost," he agrees. "But she can't fly. And she's not blue."

"Hey! I'm mostly blue."

He shakes his head. "Wrong blue. You're hospital blue. I like dragon blue."

I sigh, leaning back against his pillows.

"They said I need a transfusion," Henry said. Initially, I'm impressed that he knows the word, but I realise that he would. He hears things like that all the time. And then it's just sad. Again.

"That's right."

"From you?"

"Yes."

Henry looks worried. "But Momma, you're going to give me _all_ your blood soon. Won't you run out?"

She takes his hand. "I make more. My stem cells are healthy so they can make lots of blood. When Dr. Robbins takes some, my stem cells notice and they make more."

"But my stem cells are lazy," Henry says. Regina laughs.

"I think they're confused. But we could call them lazy too."

"What blood type are you, Henry?" I ask him.

"A positive," he recites. I grin.

"Hey, me too, kid. So we must all be blood buddies."

Someone taps on the glass. It's a perky blonde in a white coat.

"Arizona!" Henry says.

"I think she wants to talk to me," Regina says. "That okay?"

Henry nods.

"But Emma can stay here?" He sounds exhausted.

Regina gets off the bed.

"It's up to Emma."

I put my arm around Henry.

"I'll stay 'til you fall asleep, kid. That do?"

He nods, snuggling into him. Regina kisses him through her mask.

"See you later, my little prince."

"Love you," Henry murmurs.

"I love you too," Regina says. I've heard the phrase so many times. I've never heard it mean so much.


	6. Chapter 6

Henry's small and bald and sleeping in my arms and I know he's five but he feels like a baby. I'm overcome with responsibility for him. Love for him. The little shit, worming his way into my life after less than 24 hours. I can see Regina talking to his doctor; when I'm sure he's sleeping and Regina seems to be finished, I go out and without really thinking about it, give her a hug. She relaxes into my arms.

"It's strange to have someone here," she says. "This is usually the point where I give myself a talking to, whip out my laptop, and start grading papers."

"No wonder you're a harsh grader," I respond. She laughs.

"I have to eat. The cafeteria will be open, I must have a good breakfast and lots of fluids."

I look at her, considering her thought process.

"Let's get breakfast then," I say eventually, unable to come up with any response to her ridiculously pragmatic attitude.

We go back to Henry's ward first, to find clothes and clean up a bit. The three other kids in there are all awake, being fed their unappetising hospital meals.

"Henry's back already?" one of the girls asks.

"He missed you all too much to stay away," Regina said with a smile. "I should introduce you. Emma, this is Paige, Ava, and Peter."

I guess that Peter is the bad influence one. They all seem about Henry's age.

"We're the Leukemia Squad," Paige says. She sounds tired.

"No we're not," Peter says. "I told you, we can't be called that unless we're the only Leukemia room. But half the _floor_ is Leukemia."

Ava looks between the other two, then at Emma, but doesn't speak.

"She doesn't know much English," Regina explains. "Children come from all over the world to be treated here. Ava is from Russia, but she and her baby brother Nikolai are living with a foster family here. It's a complicated situation, but in short, their parents brought them here and left them. They wanted Ava to be treated, but they couldn't afford it. There is no contact information… Luckily, the hospital's charitable nature means there was never a question of Ava receiving treatment. And I've met the foster family, they seem lovely. They're even learning Russian from the interpreter."

The story is a strange interlude in all the worrying about Henry. It's sad, but I find myself thinking, if Ava and Nikolai's parents would abandon them, the children are probably better off with their foster family. I remind myself repeatedly that not every child in the foster system has experiences like mine. I catch the Russian girl's eye and smile at her. She smiles back.

"Henry talks to her a lot," Regina tells me. I go through her bag and find a tank top. I hesitate to borrow underwear but she practically shoves some into my hands.

"They're panties, calm down," she mutters in my ear. It's the opposite of calming. I go into the bathroom and change into my shorts and the tank top, then put a fresh gown on like a cape.

"Will this pass Henry's standards?" I ask. Regina laughs and goes to change. She returns wearing leggings and a long sleeved shirt with a gown over the top. She's copied me, she hasn't done hers up either.

"I feel like a wizard," I decide.

"I am definitely a witch," Regina says firmly. She grabs her purse and we go in search of food.

The day slips by, we eat in the hospital cafeteria, talking like old friends. I suppose we are, in a way. We've known each other for close to six months. We go back to see Henry. We aren't allowed to go into his room but I have the bright idea of grabbing Jet and putting on a crazy mime show for him. I'm very impressed when Dr. Robbins shows up and joins in, gamely allowing Jet (controlled by _Regina_ ) to attack her. She's very sweet, but smart, too. Regina goes to scrub for the transfusion, Robbins is about to leave but I call her back.

"What's up?" she asks, smiling.

"I… I don't even know if he needs it yet but I'm the same blood type as the kid and I was wondering if you'd test to see if I could…" I trail off. She looks at me carefully.

"How long have you known him?" she asks.

"A day," I admit. "But I've known Regina for six months."

She nods. "And you only found out about Henry by chance?"

"How did you..?"

"She is the proudest mother I've ever met," Robbins says firmly. "But he's been abandoned before, by his father. And she doesn't see it that way, but she was abandoned too."

"Will you test me?" I ask, feeling guilty for talking about Regina behind her back.

Robbins smiles sadly. "No," she says. "For a start, the chance that you'll be a match is miniscule. Secondly, Henry is not at the point where he needs a marrow transplant. While he is looking as if he might get there soon, the risks of a non-perfect match are very high, and we want to try as many other things as we can first. There are a lot of other treatment options. And even if we _were_ looking for a match… You're emotional, you're young, and I'm in no position to judge but from what I've seen, and guessed, your relationship with Regina is complex to say the least. If you really want to do this, you have to do it through her."

"But if the chances are so low-"

"Then she still has a right to know you're getting tested. It means something about you, Emma."

I stare at this doctor who doesn't know me and yet seems to know everything.

"I have to help," I say weakly. She brushes my arm with her hand.

"You are helping. You're the first person to ever be here with them. The first person to ever stay. She's _smiling_ , and not just when she's with Henry. I have to go scrub. Do you want to come in too?"

"Will Regina mind?"

"No," Robbins says, giving me an encouraging smile.

I end up talking to her after the transfusion too. Regina falls asleep on Henry's bed, they break the rules and leave her there, the two of them are so cute curled up together. I go out to the waiting room and try to get comfy on the chairs. Robbins comes in.

"I've been looking for you," she says.

"Dr. Robbins," I say groggily.

"Call me Arizona. Henry does. And I'm not even your doctor."

"What's up? Did you change your mind about me being tested?"

She rolls her eyes. "No. But I was thinking about what I said to you earlier. I should have added… Emma, you don't _have_ to stay. Regina will be fine. You seem like a very kind, protective person. But you don't have any responsibility for her or her son."

"I want to stay," I say. I'm sure. I'm also missing work right now. I haven't called them, I don't have my phone and I don't know the number to use a different one. As much as I hate to admit it, I have my own life. I have friends, M's probably going crazy, I'm aching to go for a run…

"I know," Arizona says. "But a part of you wants to leave, too."

"How can I leave? He's… She's…"

"Going to be okay. I wasn't suggesting you leave forever. But maybe go home, grab a shower, see your friends."

"What about her?"

"She'll go when she's ready. She's used to this, she knows her limits. You're not, and you don't. And you don't want to be another thing for her to worry about."

"And Henry-"

"Should understand that the whole world doesn't revolve around him, even though he's sick."

I sigh. "I don't want to go."

"I know," she repeats. "But you're not doing anyone any good taking up three of these horrifically uncomfortable waiting room chairs."

"If I don't stay, it's like I'm abandoning them," I protest. "She'll think I'm scared, she'll think I don't want to be here anymore, she'll think I'm running."

Arizona chuckles. "So talk to her before you leave. I think… I'm making a lot of assumptions here but I think right now, you're trying to prove to _yourself_ that you're not scared, that you won't run. But taking care of yourself isn't running. It's not even selfish. It's like on airplanes. You put on your own oxygen mask first. Because you can't save anyone if you can't breathe yourself."

I'm beginning to think Arizona's my guardian angel. I tell her so. She laughs.

"I'm touched. Emma, just… Just be honest with her, okay. That's the only way."

She sounds like she's speaking from experience. She plays with her necklace. It's small, silver, with a little heart.

"Do you think it can work?" I sigh. "Is there any hope?"

She takes my hand. "Where there's love, Emma, there's _always_ hope."

* * *

I go to Henry's room and tap lightly on the window. Regina's awake, stroking Henry's forehead. She catches my eye, gives him a kiss, and comes out to meet me.

"Hey," she says. She seems surprised to see me. "I thought you'd gone," she explains.

"Why?" I ask. I can't help it. I want her to say things.

"Why would you stay?"

I shrug. "I wanted to. I… I do have to go now."

I see her face fall. I curse everything. Everything that's made her react in the way I feared, everything that's made her assume I mean forever and not for a few hours. I take a deep breath, steadying my own wild emotions, then press a kiss to her lips. Her eyes widen.

"I thought-"

"You're an idiot," I tell her. She glares at me.

"Okay, you're not an idiot. But I'm not _going_. I'm just going, home, to wash my hair and get some clothes and go for a run and see my roommate and grovel to my boss so I don't get fired. But I'll be back."

Regina's grinning when I get to the end of my speech. "Okay," she says softly.

"Okay," I reply. She mock-punches my nose.

"Not funny."

"Sorry. Oh, I think my phone is at your house. Also my backpack." I remember the book I put in it. It feels like a lifetime ago.

She thinks for a moment. "Spare key. You go around the back and there's a flower pot, if you move that you'll see a combo lock, the code's 4747, and the key's in there."

I have never met anyone who keeps their key so safe. I giggle, but commit the information to memory.

"You can use the shower at my place if you like. I'll probably go home in the evening, if Henry's settled in his usual room. He sleeps better if I go, he feels more normal. Not "normal". But-"

"I get it," I tell her. "Well, in that case… I'll go do my stuff. And if you like, you can give me a call when you get home and we can go for a walk or something. So you're not by yourself. Not that you wouldn't be fine by yourself, I-"

We're as bad as each other. Regina laughs. "Okay. I'll call you later."

There's a taxi rank outside the hospital. Regina walks me down there and presses $20 into my hand.

"You're only here because of me," she reasons.

"Actually, I'm here because of Henry." I'm attempting a joke but it comes out awkwardly. I'm thinking too much, I don't want to leave, and Arizona's speech keeps replaying in my head. Especially the last part. Where there's _love_. Love? Love?! This isn't love, it's a crazy crush and a friendship and a wild college thing and getting to know someone… It can't be love, it's not love, it's nothing like that. We just kissed. There's way too much, I'm supposed to be making up credit for her class, she's supposed to be taking care of her son. Neither of us can do this. Why did Arizona say love? What gave her that idea?

Maybe she meant Regina and Henry, maybe she had changed the subject back to Henry getting better and was talking about how loved that little boy is and how no one should give up hope on him. I groan at myself.

"What is it?" Regina asks.

I shrug. "I just… I need to go," I say firmly.

"You do," she agrees. "I… Emma, I will call you later, but you don't have to meet me or even answer the phone if you don't want to. I'll understand. This is not what you asked for."

She's right. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I wrote that essay and showed up in her office. But I'm no angel either. Nobody has a perfect life, everybody has issues and secrets and things they need help with. It seems to me that Regina's spent way too long feeling sure she can't accept help from anyone, that she has to be Henry's saviour, that her whole life is about him and that she has nothing else to offer. Suddenly I see her austere teaching style in a different light. She doesn't want to be liked because she doesn't see why people would like her. She doesn't see what is _so damn obvious_. And my essay… She still thinks I was taking the piss. I can tell. But it meant something to her because she's so starved of affection.

It wouldn't be enough, I realise. I couldn't be there for her just because she needed it. But I need it too. She's the first person to see me without judgement, to notice that there's someone underneath the role I play each day. She knows what it's like to hide huge parts of yourself, she knows what it's like to feel pain. Somehow, when she looks at me, I can feel that, all of that, and it's like… Like there's somewhere I fit, where we both fit, and that's how I know I have to come back. I have to leave, I have to clear my head. But I have to come back because we're drowning, she and I, and we have to save ourselves, but maybe we can save ourselves by saving each other, too.

"If I don't answer, call again," I tell her. She smiles. I press a kiss to her dry, tired lips.

"It has been a pleasure," she says. I raise my eyebrows. She shakes her head with a laugh.

"Of course, not a pleasure that Henry is sick. But a pleasure spending time with you. I had fun. I laughed so much I had tears in my eyes when you fell out of that chair. Henry appreciates it too. He said so. And he said…" she trails off into a pause, seemingly embarrassed.

"What?" I ask softly.

"He said _I_ am happier. He said he was glad you were here because he has his friends, Ava and Paige and Peter, and it was nice that I had a friend too."

"He's a perceptive guy."

"He has had to grow up too fast."

"Nah, he's still your little kid. Talk to him about dragons, he'll remind you."

She smiles. "I know. He… Whatever he is, whatever his health, his age, his dreams, he is my beautiful, wonderful son, and I love him with all my heart. I've known that even before he was born. I could never understand how Robin could leave."

"Does he visit?" I ask.

She nods. "Once a year. The flight is expensive, he still lives in Maine. And he has a family, a new baby. A healthy baby."

I grit my teeth. "No baby is better than another," I say. "No person… I'm sorry I asked about him, I don't really want to know."

She kisses my cheek. "I… I'm not sorry. It is something of a novelty to have someone so interested in me."

"Do you… Do you mind that I'm a student?" I blurt out. I have to go, I know, but I can't help it. My mind's burning with questions and fears. This is the least of them. I can only ask it because I'm so confident of the answer. And yet, it's an answer I'm still desperate to hear.

"No," she says firmly. "You are an amazing woman. Being my student complicates things. It is unfortunate, perhaps. But your academic status has no influence on my feelings for- my feelings about you," she corrects hastily. I grin at her like a maniac. She opens the door to my taxi.

"Have a nice day. I'll talk to you later."

"I look forward to it."

The cab takes me to her place and I find the key without any problems. I hunt around a bit and finally find my phone under one of her couch cushions. As expected, I have dozens of missed calls. I ignore them and shove the phone in my backpack. I'm about to leave but… I can't resist. It's the daredevil in me. I have no desire to snoop through her belongings. I don't go anywhere she hasn't taken me before. But I have this urge to see her room again. I go upstairs, opening the door, my heart racing as if the cops are going to show up at any moment. I have a brief flashback to when that happened, once, but I pull myself back into the present. I'm allowed to be here. I have a key.

I tiptoe into the room. The bed is made up, the whole room is perfectly tidy. I don't open her closet; her outfits look way better on her than on hangers. I do open the drawer to her nightstand. It's a moment of weakness, okay! I grin at the purple vibrator. She really is human. I close the drawer, blushing a little. Maybe she'll show me herself one day.

That delicious idea still on my mind, I go into her bathroom and look longingly at her shower. It's huge, big enough for two people at least. It looks very high-tech, with steam vents and a giant shower head so you don't even have to move, you get water everywhere. I think of the dorm showers, and then how much I need to wash my hair. I sniff her apple scented shower gel. Her shampoo and conditioner bottles promise a silky softness I could never afford. There are fresh towels on the shelf, it's like it was meant to be…

 _Dammit, she'll never know_ , I mutter to myself as I strip my clothes and turn on the heavenly appliance. I even remember to put on the extractor fan. I give myself a mental pat on the back, then step into the shower. It feels fantastic. The water pressure is perfect (and adjustable, but Regina's taste in settings suits me just fine). I wash every inch of my skin, savouring the moment for as long as I can. I decide borrowing her washcloth would be weird, so I'm touching myself with my hands, running them over my torso as I imagine the owner of the shower engaged in similar activities… I gasp, shaking myself back to reality. I _can't_. That would be so… So bad. But living in dorms is torture. I'm so rarely alone. Truly, blissfully, nakedly alone.

I groan as I slip a finger between my folds, feeling the wetness already pooling there as a result of my Regina-in-the-shower fantasies.

_And then she's in there with me, shucking her clothes and sliding the glass door, stepping inside, parting her lips as water rains down on her skin. She's gorgeous, her toned curves, her full, inviting breasts._

" _I was hoping I'd find you here," she says, her voice deep and hungry. She runs her hands up my arms, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me in for a passionate kiss. She takes the lead, her tongue pushing past my welcoming lips, caressing my mouth. She tugs gently on my bottom lip with her teeth. I hum with pleasure. The shower continues its assault on our skin, making all my nerves stand to attention as Regina pushes me against the wall, moving her hands around to fondle my breasts._

" _Do you like that?" she mutters into my ear as I let out a strangled moan. She chuckles, kissing my neck, pushing her body against mine so our breasts jostle together as she moves her hands lower. She finds the base of my diaphragm, I gasp as she runs her fingers along it, then try not to scream as she lowers herself to her knees and replaces her fingers with her mouth._

_Her hands run up my calves, the backs of my knees, my thighs… She gently edges my legs apart, looking up at me as she does so._

" _Watch me, Emma," she breathes. She kisses my inner thighs, then lifts my left leg over her shoulder, gripping my hips to keep me steady._

_I watch as she moistens her lips with her tongue. She catches my eye, then leans forward, opening me up to her, and kisses my clit. I cry out with pleasure. She's still looking at me. I struggle to keep my eyes open as she dips her tongue into my sex, licking out my essence, murmuring with enjoyment._

" _You are delectable," she says, her mouth still pressed into my folds. She has to use both hands to keep me from falling, but her wicked mouth is more than enough._

_She massages my most sensitive area, kissing me, enjoying me… Her tongue traces patterns on and around my swollen bundle, tortuously and wonderfully slow. I feel myself rising and rising. We're still making eye contact and the look in her dark, lustful eyes deepens as I scream her name amongst a stream of curse words. She holds me more tightly, her nails digging into me. I have one hand pressed against the wall to keep me steady; I use the other one to massage my breasts. Her eyes twinkle in approval and she dips her tongue inside me again._

" _Fuck, Regina," I pant. She swipes her tongue back out, then takes my clit into her mouth, sucking on it until I come apart, a shaking mess of ecstasy in her arms. She holds me up, her tongue guiding me through, collecting another rush of my juices which she takes into her mouth with relish. She sets me on my feet and stands flush against me, still looking right into my eyes, then she kisses me, hard, and I can taste myself on her. My knees are still wobbly; she holds me firmly as she takes up a washcloth and begins to clean my body with apple-scented soap._

"Shit," I say, grabbing Regina's shampoo and washing my hair vigorously. I force myself to stand, ignoring the aftershocks still trembling through my lower body. I thought it would release the tension, and it has, the immediate kind, but now I'm even more desperate for the real thing. I have a great imagination, there's no denying it, but I have a feeling Regina's a powerhouse in the bedroom that my mind and fingers are no match for.

I hurry to finish showering, clean up the bathroom, and get out of her house. I leave everything where I found it. I'm pretty sure she won't notice. And even if she does, I used her shower, it's not like I did something criminal. She let me into her house, she wouldn't even mind. I wonder if she'd mind if she knew exactly what I used her shower for. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she'd show me how she'd _really_ do it.

I groan at myself as I return her key to its hiding place and go in search of a bus stop. I'm so screwed. Not literally though. Because fuck my life. And my stupid professor. That has feelings for me. I grin. _Feelings for me_. I am not going to worry. This is a good thing, an amazing thing. I am not going to mess it up. I am not going to freak out.


	7. Chapter 7

It's okay, she told me I could use it. She actually mentioned it, she said it was okay. I blush, then grin, then look around the bus as if the other people on it might know what I'm thinking about. And what I'm thinking about is my Politics Professor. My gorgeous, sexy Politics Professor, bending me over her desk and-

I scramble to my feet and hurry of the bus, almost missing my stop.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

M's shouting at me as soon as I get into the room. I drop my backpack, plug my phone in to charge, and take a deep breath before I answer.

"I was with Professor Mills."

"ALL NIGHT?"

And I used to wish to have a mother…

"Yes," I say patiently. "Something came up."

"Yeah, I got that much from your text? What, exactly, came up so that you SPENT THE NIGHT WITH YOUR PROFESSOR?"

"Hey, shut up, these walls are thin!" I panic. "And nothing like _that_ , okay. Look, it's private."

"I know everything about you."

She doesn't, but I let her believe it. "It's not my life to tell you about. Sorry, M."

"What could it… Emma, you can't just stay over at your Professor's-"

"It wasn't at her house, okay?"

"What do you mean? Where were you? A _hotel_?"

"No! Quit asking questions, you're not my mom."

It's low. She holds up her hands in surrender.

"Fine. I was just trying to look out for you."

I sigh. "I know. I just… I can't tell you. All I can say is it's not what you think."

"But you are still into her."

Another sigh. "Yes."

I'm beginning to realise how exhausted I am. I give up on the idea of running for now. What I need to do is sleep. I strip to my underwear and vault into bed, collapsing onto my pillows.

"Emma, should I be worried?" M asks quietly. I pretend to be asleep.

* * *

I creep out of the caf, feeling lucky to still have my job. My ears are ringing from the yelling, though. I have the rest of the day off, but solid 7AM starts Monday through Friday. I fantasise about getting another job, one where they don't hate me, but this is convenient and simple and didn't need references… So here I am. I go back to my room, wondering where M got to. I feel guilty, but I'm glad she's not there.

I change into my running clothes. I still feel kind of tired but I know that I'll enjoy it once I get going. And I need to clear my head. I keep thinking about Regina, how I want to see her, how I want to get tested for Henry, how we shouldn't rush things… It's not _rushing_. I've known her forever. People get married after less time.

My feet pound against the sidewalk. It's another hot day. I feel stiff, my body clock's even more messed up than usual and I didn't know being emotionally drained could affect your muscles but it totally can. I run down to the beach, my safe place, passing what must be hundreds of people. Dyed hair, sunbed tans, steroid abs, designer booty shorts, veneer smiles, rockstar shades. They flash past; I ignore everything. I try not to see, only keeping my eyes open so I don't run into things.

I steady my breathing. My chest hurts. I'm worrying. I run through it; it gets better. The further I run, the clearer I feel. I don't have any answers, I can't cure Henry, I can't change who I am, but as I run, I realise I know _exactly_ what I want. And I know what Regina wants too. I can complicate it as much as I like, but the fact is our desire for each other is simple. Where we go from there is a mess, but the attraction, the connection, the chemistry… They make sense.

I've never been good at being close to people. M's my first real friend and I'm always pushing her away. I don't know how it can work with Regina. I'm not emotionally available, and she doesn't seem to be either - but then, she does, she introduces me to her son and lets me into her life and for a day we're this perfect family… I groan. I'm not going to think about it. It'll work itself out, probably the way things in my life always do. She'll give up on me and I'll get over it. But before she gives up on me…

My fantasies float around as I get to my beach. I strapped my phone to my arm before I left and as I slow down I realise it's buzzing. I answer breathlessly, glancing at the ID to see that it's Regina.

"Hey! Sorry, I was running."

"Oh, I can go. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, no, I stopped running, I got to the end. How's Henry?"

"Doing very well. In 'his' bed, tucked up with Jet. He told me very firmly I should go home and get some rest."

I laugh. "Smart kid."

"He loves to _listen_."

"And how are you?"

"Tired," she admits. "But well."

Why is it so damn hard to talk to her without thinking about kissing her? "Do you want to have dinner?" I ask.

"Yes," she says slowly. "I have some work things, I should spend an hour or so at the office, my inbox has been piling up a little. But we could have a late dinner, if you want."

An idea is forming in my mind. A _bad_ idea. An idea I know she'll love. An idea I'm more than ready for.

"Okay. Why don't you text me when you're about done and I'll come down to your office?"

When she answers, she sounds as if she's heard something in my voice, something about my intentions. There's a switch in her tone. Suddenly she's not the concerned, loving mother. She's Professor Mills, total hardass, pure sex poured into a swanky business suit, fuck me heels clicking on the floor as she sways down the hallway in front of me…

"Very well. I will see you later, Miss Swan."

Yep. She knows. She _knows._

I run home, not in the mood to lie on my beach any more, and take an icky dorm shower. I close my eyes and try to put myself back in Regina's bathroom, but the sounds and smells of dorms make it impossible. I dress in my go-to denim shorts and white tank top. I want to leave my hair down but it's too damn hot; I sweep it into a messy bun instead. It's a bit more interesting than a ponytail.

I don't want to take my backpack so I just shove my phone and credit card in my back pocket and carry _Carmilla_ \- I _will_ give it to her, though it feels sillier by the minute. She probably won't even like it. I brush my teeth and meet M at our door as I come back from the bathroom.

"You're going out again," she observes.

"Yeah, meeting friends."

"Look, Emma… I'm sorry about earlier. It's your life."

We go into the room. "That's okay. Thanks."

"Just… Be careful, okay?"

I think about what I'm about to do. I'm pretty sure it's the opposite of careful.

"I feel right with her, M. I know it's not a perfect situation, I know she's a professor, I know it's not appropriate… But remember when you met David?"

M looks uncomfortable. We never bring it up any more, but David was with someone else when she met him. And when she first slept with him. It was very complicated, but cheating is always cheating.

"Yeah, but I don't see how-"

"Look. You and David… You felt something so strong, so _right_ , that no matter how many rules you were breaking, it couldn't be wrong. You couldn't help yourself."

"It was inevitable," M says softly.

"Yeah. And with Regina, it's kind of like that." _Except neither of us are cheating on anyone_ , I add in my head, only a little bitterly.

"As you rightly point out, I'm in no position to criticise or judge. I just don't want either of you to get into trouble. And if someone _were_ to get in trouble, she's a hardass and you're a scholarship student with nothing and no one to protect you. It's going to be you."

Nothing and no one. She's right. So right. That's me, that's always been me. Alone. But last night, yesterday… Yesterday I had everything. Yesterday I _wasn't_ alone. And even now, I know Regina's there, I know she wants to see me, I know she respects me, I know she wants me and I want her and somehow I have this hope, this hope that I can _have_ her, that I can call her part of my life, that she and Henry can be my people. Maybe it's stupid. It probably is. But I don't care.

I thought I'd grown out of hope. But as my phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it and see I have a text message from Regina, I realise my heart was like a dormant volcano of hope, and now it's erupting and there's so much hope I can't even hide it. I grin. M sighs.

"That's her?"

"Be happy for me," I tell her, still smiling as I leave the room.

It's only a five minute walk from my dorm to the Politics building. My heart's racing when I get to Regina's office, even though I walked intentionally slowly. The door's open but I knock on it anyway; she's reading something and typing on her computer.

"Professor Mills? You wanted to see me?"

She slowly turns her head and looks at me in a way that can only be described as predatory.

"Shut the door behind you, Miss Swan."

I step into the office, doing as she says. Then I pause. I'm sure. I'm so sure. But I catch her eye and we grin at each other and suddenly I'm just Emma and she's just Regina and she actually _giggles_. I hold out the book.

"Before… Well, before everything, I was going to lend you this."

She takes it, reading the cover.

"Have you heard of it?" I ask.

"I can't say that I have. Should I?"

I grin wider. "I'm glad you haven't. Read it, sometime. I think you'll love it."

She puts it in her purse.

"I don't have anything for you," she says, sitting on the edge of her desk.

"Well," I say, waggling my eyebrows.

"About that," she says, firming up her expression. She can turn herself into the boss at a moment's notice. "On the phone… I know what you want, Emma. I know why you want it. I want it too. Very much. But I've said before, you deserve-"

"Regina, right now, I think what we both deserve is a break. We need to do something crazy and fun, we need to break the rules, and… We need to put everything else to the side to worry about another day. Another day _soon_. But another day."

She nods, smiling again. "You would make an excellent politician, you argue perfectly for what you want. One more thing… I know I can be quite… imposing. I enjoy it. But I want to be sure that you will-"

"Regina, I have wanted to do this since my first day in your class. _Please_?"

She laughs, then suddenly becomes stern again. I feel a flutter in my stomach. She stands up, rolling her neck, then gives me her death glare. I think I might come on the spot.

"Miss Swan. What can I do for you?"

And then there's that wicked smile.

"I…" I stammer.

"Spit it out, Miss Swan. I do not have all day."

"I had to see you," I say. I'm just going with it, I've never done anything like this before but it's so damn exciting, my whole body's vibrating and she hasn't even touched me.

"You see me. Will that be all?"

She rolls her eyes as I struggle for words.

"I need to make up my grade," I say.

"Ah. Because of that atrocity of a paper."

I blush. "It wasn't _that_ bad, was it?"

"It was entirely inappropriate. How do you intend to atone?"

I stare at her lips, so full and red and luscious. She's wearing her red silk shirt (with way too many buttons undone of course) and a black pencil skirt that has to have been designed specifically for her.

"I'll do _anything_ ," I whisper. She smiles wickedly, then leans back against the desk. I take a bold step forward.

She crooks a finger, beckoning me. When I'm within reach, she grabs me by my tank top and pulls me right into her, spreading her legs so I'm between them.

"Anything?" she mutters in my ear. I moan at the feel of her hot, sweet breath against my skin. She kisses my neck.

"Yes," I gasp. I feel her teeth graze my skin, then she soothes it with her tongue.

"I have always enjoyed dedicated students," she breathes. She slides her hands around to my ass, pulling me even closer. Our chests bump together and I see the fire in her eyes. She leans in the final inch and kisses me. It's nothing like at her house, it's hard and desperate and passionate and everything I need.

Her tongue pushes past my lips; I take it willingly, tugging at her shirt, undoing another button to give my hands full access to her ample cleavage. I rub her nipples through her lacy bra; she bites down on my bottom lip, then raises her hands to my shoulders.

"I want you to kiss me," she orders.

 _But I just was- Oh. OH._ I drop to my knees. She spreads her legs a little wider. I run my hands up her legs, tracing patterns on her ankles and calves. She moans with anticipation as I reach her skirt and push it up even higher than it's already ridden. I kiss her thigh, just above her knee.

"Do I need to give you a lesson on the female anatomy, Miss Swan?"

Her _voice_. It's her teaching voice but suddenly it _drips_ sex - and it's not the only thing that's dripping. I kiss higher. She grips the desk with one hand; the other's tangling in my hair, pulling out my bun. I hook my fingers into her panties and tug them down. She has to close her legs a bit for me to get them off; she sighs exasperatedly as I help her, then narrows her eyes as I shove them in my back pocket. I wink.

"They're just panties," I say, using her own logic against her. She puts her legs over my shoulders, pulling me in.

"So far you're getting an F," she says. My face is inches from her sex, I can smell her arousal. I kiss her thigh again, much higher up this time. I reach up, anchoring myself with her ass as I pull her into me. Her hand's in my hair again.

" _Miss Swan,_ " she says, either desperately or furiously, I can't even tell.

I decide I'm not really a rebellious student. I press a gentle kiss to her sex, then lick it with a long stroke of my tongue. She's cursing like a sailor but her thighs are pressed pretty tight against my ears. I'm not a huge fan of small spaces but I could stay in this one forever. She's sweet and tangy and deliciously forbidden. I kiss her again, then explore her folds with my tongue, teasing her, avoiding where she wants me most. Her grip on my hair tightens. I dig my fingers into her ass, moving with her rolling hips, then finally I give her clit the attention it deserves. She's so sensitive, it's not going to take much. I press with my tongue, then suck her into my mouth, caressing her until she cries out, her body spasming as another wave of fluid rushes over my face. I guide her through it, maintaining pressure as long as she can take it, helping her ride out the orgasm to the highest point of release.

When I extricate myself from her thighs she's collapsing against her desk. I stand and grin at her. She holds up a finger.

"Professor Mills will be with you in a minute," she says. I wipe my face on the back of my hand, then lean down and kiss her softly, letting her taste.

"What's my grade?" I whisper. She smiles.

"Let me show you."

She sits up, still a little spaced out, then stands and reverses our positions. She untucks her shirt. The buttons are all undone and it falls open. She tugs off my tank top, pushes me against the desk, and undoes my shorts. She's pushed her skirt back down but she looks amazing, her hair's a mess, her lipstick's smudged, and her manicured fingers are gently stroking my abdomen, sneaking lower and lower. She uses her other hand to press us right against each other again, then slips two fingers into my slick heat. I'm so ready for her, I buck my hips involuntarily to take her deeper. She begins a rhythm, pushing into me as she finds my hair again and pulls my head forward so her mouth meets mine.

Her tongue matches the thrust of her fingers; I groan loudly as she sweeps her thumb across my centre. It only takes a few more strokes before I'm exploding around her. She holds me, guiding me as I did her.

She finally removes her fingers; I shudder with pleasure, and almost come again when I see what she does with them next. She looks at me innocently as she licks me off her digits, then moves in for another kiss.

"You okay there?" she asks, chuckling a little. I rest my head against her shoulder, slowing my breathing and grinning like an idiot as I think about where I am and what just happened.

"Amazing," I murmur. She holds me at arm's length, looking me over, then nods, as if to say "job well done". She lets go to do up her buttons, tucks her shirt back in, then picks up my top and helps me into it, too. Then she kisses me again, slow and sweet, and just holds me, tight and safe. I keep breathing, breathing her in. She rubs her hands up and down my back.

"Let me buy you dinner?" she offers. I don't ever want to move, but I assent and reluctantly we move apart.

"May I have my underwear back?" she asks.

"Nope," I say, smiling. She rolls her eyes.

"You're lucky I like you so much."

She picks up her purse and we leave her office. We walk side by side, just two people, casually strolling across campus. When we finally get inside her car she takes my hand, drawing circles on my wrist with her thumb.

"I… I want you to stay with me tonight," she says quietly. "But it is entirely up to you."

I lean over, onto her shoulder. "I want to. I have work, so I'd have to leave really early, but if that's okay-"

"I always wake up early."

I chuckle. "Did you ever eat take out in bed?" I ask suddenly.

"Why on earth would someone do that?"

I grin. "Because that's how you're gonna get me to stay over."

She makes a face. "But my sheets-"

"Won't care. Come on. Let's get burgers."

She laughs. "I haven't eaten a burger since I was in college."

I gasp. "Then we _have_ to."

Still laughing, she starts the engine and we head to the nearest drive through. We get burgers and fries and decaf; she floors it back to her place and I run inside, kicking off my shoes on the way upstairs.

"Pyjamas. Now," I command. She throws a shirt and some sleep shorts at me; I throw them on, not even thinking about showing myself off as I change in front of her, too desperate for my burger. She laughs as I dive for the takeout bag. Similarly attired, she sits on the bed, props herself against her pillows, and eats her burger like a queen as she watches me devour mine.

We finish the food and coffee; I scoot to the bathroom then return and flop against the (now somehow perfectly clear and tidy) bed, sated in every possible way. She brushes her hand over my shoulder then takes her turn in the bathroom, then flips off the lights on her way back to bed. She lies down, then tugs me towards her. I have never been a cuddler, but with Regina, there's nothing I want more than to curl up in her arms.

So I do. Heads touching, smiling in the dark, we wrap our arms around each other, adjusting until we fit perfectly, close as can be, snuggled under the blanket. We don't need to say anything. Neither of us want to. There's no tension, no stress, no worry. It'll come, I'm sure, but right now we just feel _good_. And for the second time in my life, and in two days, I fall asleep in the safety of someone's arms.


	8. Chapter 8

Sneaking out of Regina's house in the early hours of the morning feels eerily familiar. Until she catches me, that is.

"Have a wonderful day at work, dear," she tells me, pressing a travel mug of freshly brewed coffee into my hand. I stare at her. I could have sworn she was still sleeping when I ducked into the bathroom five minutes ago.

"Would you like a ride?" she purrs innocently. I gulp. She chuckles.

"I can drop you a block away so as not to attract attention, if you prefer."

I'm kind of disappointed we're not talking about riding any more. She catches it, of course.

"Later, dear. I will not keep you from your work."

"You never miss a thing," I sigh. She kisses me on the nose. It's so familiar.

"Comes with being a mother," she says.

"It's nice," I admit. Suddenly, she's not teasing me any more. She puts a hand on my shoulder and looks right in my eyes.

"Good," she says softly. "You must tell me… You must let me be there for you, Emma. I have needed and greatly appreciated your support over the last few days. But I am here for you, too."

I put the coffee down so I can wrap my arms around her and pull her into a tight hug. I press my face into her shoulder so she doesn't see the tears that are prickling in my eyes.

In the end it doesn't matter that she drops me off campus - I hurry up to my room to change into more work-suitable clothes and none other than my darling roommate is sitting on her swivel chair in the middle of the room giving me the evil eye. She is anything but happy for me.

"Not now, Mary Margaret," I attempt, but I know she's not letting me off that easy.

"I know you have to work, Emma, so you have extra incentive to answer this quickly. Where were you last night?"

"Out," I say stubbornly. This is the kind of mothering I don't mind having missed out on.

"Out with who?"

"None of your damn business." It's a mistake. I'm playing into her hands. She knows, anyway.

"If it had been _anyone_ else you would have told me," she says, getting out of the chair and putting her hands on my shoulders. I wriggle out of her grip but she meets my eyes with this horrible expression of pity and disappointment and superiority and suddenly I'm right in her face.

"You're not better than me!" I yell. "No one is! I'm good enough, I'm good enough to be happy."

She sighs. "Emma, I know that. But she's taking advantage-"

"No! She's not."

"You had sex with her, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?"

"Emma! She is ten years older than you."

"Closer to nine, actually," I sniff.

"Okay, _nine_ years then. It's still way too much. And that's not even addressing the fact that she is your professor, your teacher. She's in a position of responsibility towards you and Emma… I…" She looks uncomfortable.

"Spit it out, I have to go," I snap.

"Em, you've… You've never been treated right by the people who were supposed to look after you. I don't know exactly what happened, what you had to do, but you don't have to submit to people any more. And… And if you really care about her, you're only going to get hurt. The _best_ case scenario is, it's just sex. And that's still bad, Em."

"What, because a woman like her would never want more than sex from me? Because I'm worth no more than a body, a piece of meat?"

I'm close to crying for the second time this morning and this time there's nothing beautiful about it.

The worst part is, M's right. Not about Regina, maybe. But about me.

"You know nothing about her," I defend weakly. I try to think of a way to defend myself, but I have no more words. I undress and redress as fast as possible, then run out of the room.

I spend the day over too-hot, bleach filled water that burns my eyes and skin, and I relish in it. I relish in physical pain because it covers the emotional pain that I'm unable to deal with. I don't even take my break; I only leave when they kick me out at 5pm. My phone has a bunch of messages, but I don't look at them. I want to go back to the room to get changed but M might be there, so I just start to run. I run further than ever before, past my safe haven beach and into a part of town I hardly recognise. A rough one. I almost belong.

There's a clap of thunder. I shiver. My jeans are chafing, my t-shirt smells of spoiled food and sweat. My hair's falling out of its ponytail; when the first drops of rain start to fall I just pull it out.

I'm still on the beach, if you can call it that. The sand is muddy, there's litter everywhere… But it's empty, which is what counts. I sit on the sand, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them as the rain drums against my back.

The next hour or so is a blur, a blur of violent chest pain and burning muscles and hyperventilation. When I finally get control of my panicked body, I realise that I'm crying, though my sobs are mostly swallowed up by the roar of the wind and the ocean. I don't know why I take out my phone, I don't register hearing it ring, but it is ringing, and it's Regina, and I can't help but answer the call.

"Hello?"

My voice sounds so small I hardly recognise it.

"Emma?"

She sounds worried. I'm a terrible person. She has enough to worry about. Now I'm worrying her too. I don't even manage any more words. I just cry into the phone.

"Emma," she says firmly into the phone. "Where are you?"

"Not again," I mumble. I think I hear her laugh.

"You deserve to have someone to take care of you, Emma. Tell me where you are."

I do the map thing and give her an address.

"Okay, I'm on my way. Try not to get hit by lightning."

I laugh. I can't help it. She's so… She's making jokes. _Jokes_.

"I'm going to be about thirty minutes, but I'll stay on the phone. Henry says hello. And I loved the book. I read some of it while he was sleeping."

"You remind me of Carmilla," I tell her. I can feel her rolling her eyes.

"I don't think anyone could suck the life out of you, Emma," she says softly.

"You think far too well of me."

"As is my right, I suppose. Henry wants to know if you'll visit tomorrow."

"I…"

"You can think about it when you're warm and dry."

"I want to see him. I just…"

"And I thought _I_ would be the one freaking out," she says wryly.

"Hey, Regina, this isn't because we-"

"Emma, I'm pretty good at knowing when people are lying, even over the phone."

She's got me. It _is_ because we had sex. It's because… It's because we had sex, but we couldn't be close. _I_ couldn't be close. It had to be a game. Like always. I just… I just fuck, I'm great at it, but there can never be feelings. And… Something M said is making me analyse everything in terms of my past, in terms of what I've had to do to get where I am today.

I don't know what I'm feeling for Regina. And I have no idea what she's doing with me. She doesn't sound guilty, though.

"I can't read your mind, Emma." She speaks softly, kindly, but… Like she knows herself. I don't think I've ever spoken like that, so quietly confident. She's been through so much, hell, she's going through so much, but she's so… She's so her. She knows. She knows who she is, what she wants, how to _be_. "But I hope you will talk to me. I've become accustomed to getting what I want from people, but you must understand, I only take what is willingly given. And only if the giver is also willing to take."

It's funny. There's a storm, whipping my hair, beating against my skin, and I'm wet and cold and shaking and yet hearing her talk, hearing her be rational and smart and somehow salacious at the same time… She's my shelter. Even her words, even on the phone, she makes me feel safe.

"You're so… Whole," I muse.

"What do you mean by that?" she asks.

"Like… You know everything you are, and you show it. You're smart and sexy and kind and reasonable and funny and caring, all at the same time. You're talking to me while you drive to rescue me from a storm. I don't know how you can take me seriously."

"Why should I not? If I am so complete, surely I am more than equipped to judge your character?"

"And what is your judgement?" I whisper.

I hear a car pull up nearby. There's no way she didn't break the speed limit. She leaves the headlights on. I hear her footfalls coming closer - or maybe I just feel her, moving in behind me. She sits beside me on the wet, dirty sand, squinting into the wind and rain.

"I think you are an exceptional and wonderful woman, Emma Swan, and I would be honoured to have the opportunity to get to know you better in any way you are comfortable with."

"Your kid has cancer, you're divorced, you're putting your job in jeopardy, and you're the one comforting me?"

"So it would seem. I don't mean to interfere, but is it possible that you downplay your difficulties?"

"I…" I don't know what to say. I can't tell her. "You've read my file," I say eventually.

"And it told me very little. I'd like to know _you_ , Emma, the person, not Emma the file."

"I don't know how to explain…"

"Let's begin with the practical matters."

"Huh?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because… I was running."

She waits.

"I spoke to my roommate. She thinks you're taking advantage of me. And she kind of implied that that's all anybody would do, that it's all they've ever done. And she didn't mean it, but I felt like she was saying… No. That's not fair. I just felt it, on my own. I felt like I couldn't be loved, that I wouldn't ever be worthy of it. You said this morning that you wanted to be there for me but I don't even know what that's like. I don't know how it works, I don't know how to do it, I don't want to be taken advantage of and I don't want to take advantage of _you_! I don't know how any of this works and it would be hard enough if you were a normal person but you're not even that, you're my damn professor and you have a potentially dying kid!"

She puts a hand over mine and grips my fingers.

"When I feel myself spiralling, when my pain, my past, my fears, threaten to take me over, I take a deep breath, and I say to myself, 'You are where you need to be.' It's a small thing, a phrase that could have many meanings. But it calms me. It reminds me that while I have no control, no control over my dear, _potentially_ dying son, I have the moment I am in. I have this moment, I'm in it, I'm living it, and Henry is here, now. _I_ am here. I have air in my lungs, my heart is beating, so I _live_. I can't know the future, I can't change the past, but I have the here and now, and I always will."

She waits, now. She's still holding my hand.

"You're where you need to be, Emma," she says.

I turn to her rain soaked face. She looks right into my eyes, so clear, so honest.

"I'm where I need to be," I repeat. She gives me a small smile and a little nod, then stands and pulls me up after her.

We walk to the car. I don't realise how cold I am until I start to warm up, surrounded by warm air and heated leather.

"Where do you need to be next?" she asks me. I smile. I have to.

"Can I come home with you?" I ask shyly. She takes my hand again.

"Of course you can."


	9. Chapter 9

Sitting in Regina's kitchen, a cup of hot cocoa pressed into my still-shaking hands, I wonder how I could possibly have come to be here. I'm wearing her clothes, too-short sweats and a college sweater, and she's wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. She's sitting across from me, watching as I drink the cocoa. We're not speaking, I don't want to. I feel as if breaking the silence might also break the spell.

"Can I braid your hair?" she asks suddenly.

Taken off guard by her lack of preamble, I nod, slurp down the dregs of my drink, and settle in my chair. She rises and moves to stand behind me, combing her fingers through my clean, damp hair. She doesn't speak again. I can feel her hands working; my scalp tingles and I secretly wish for her to mess up the braid so she'll have to start over.

The feeling is yet another first. I've never been touched like this before. I never had a mother to do it when I was a child (or a father, aunt, uncle, grandparent, or friend, for that matter) and I never went to sleepovers with other girls, either. I've never been able to afford salon hair cuts; I trim my own split ends and that's about it.

"I always dreamed of having long, blonde hair," Regina tells me as she works. "I thought it would make me more like a princess, and I desperately wanted that."

"Why?" I ask quietly, expecting stories of palaces and balls and beautiful gowns.

"To please my mother," she admits. "I was never girly enough for her, never calm enough. When my hair was long, it also curled, and my mother used to call it wild, witch's hair. I hated it so much that I cut it all off when I was about thirteen. Henry loves the pictures, he enjoys seeing me 'like him'."

Her answer is so much deeper than I expected.

"My hair never made me very princess-like," I say, for want of something better. "I got in too many fights to keep anything nice." The addition slips out, I don't mean to say it, but somehow it's so easy to talk to her. I've hardly spoken of my time in the foster system, but something about Regina makes me want to tell her everything, all the stories wrapped around my heart, keeping anyone from getting too close.

Regina doesn't speak. It's as if she knows I'm on the verge of watershed. She continues to braid, eventually halting and placing her hands on my shoulders.

"All done," she says, a little regretfully.

Neither of us move for a long moment. Regina seems to know better than to ask what I'm thinking about, but she doesn't let go of me. Her hands begin to massage my shoulders.

"Emma…" she begins, but she trails off. I take a deep breath.

"I was abandoned as a newborn. My mother left me by the side of the road, she didn't take me to a hospital, not even to _any_ building. I was fostered quickly, babies are, and I think my family was going to adopt me, but when I was three they got pregnant with their own kid, so they sent me back. Those three years, though, were probably the best of my life. After that, I jumped from home to home, usually ending up in group ones. This was all in Maine… When I was about 10, I decided I had to get to LA. I saw a magazine with all these beautiful, happy people living here, and then there were movies and everything backed it up… When I got old enough to realise none of that was real, LA still seemed as good a goal as any, and I knew I had to leave for somewhere. So I studied. I was in fights, I was scruffy, no one liked me much, but I worked damn hard on my grades, ran track for extra credit, and made most of my life about my college application. I knew it had to be amazing if I wanted a scholarship. And here we are."

Almost everything I say can be read, or at least inferred from, my file. But Regina takes my hand and looks at me in that way she can, the way that makes me feel _important_ , and after another breath, I try to continue.

"I… I want you," I say, breaking eye contact, studying my knees instead. "But… I mean, before, when I've… I realised pretty early on that I was hot, you know? People would look at me… And in the system, you have to use what's available, you know? I needed things, money, money for buses and textbooks and running shoes. No foster parent was going to pay for all that. At first I tried so hard, I really did, to get the money in a good way, applying to funds, but even the one time I got a donation, my foster parents just took the money and spent it on booze. After that I lost hope in anyone doing anything good for me, so I… It was a choice. It was my decision, and… The worst part is, if I was back there, I'd probably do the same. It worked. I got out. And it was never, you know… I mean, it was things like I stole a book and got caught but the security guard said he'd let me off if…"

I don't even realise I'm crying until Regina wipes away the tears that are pouring down my cheeks. I can't bear to look at her, I can't bear to see her judge me. She probably can't look at me either, now she knows what I've done.

"I'm a horrible person, I know. I'm dirty and disgusting, a little slut. I probably deserved everything-"

"Emma Swan, you are none of those things. None of what you just told me was your fault. It was not your fault, Emma. And you deserved none of it. You deserved a family who would have bought your books and shoes. You deserved to be cared for. You deserved to be loved. And you still do. You deserve love, Emma Swan. You're worth it."

I don't know how to answer her. I can't agree. How can she be so kind?

"I… I don't know how to believe you."

She pulls me into a hug.

"Then let me prove it to you," she murmurs in my ear.

There's so much I haven't told her. I don't want to. If she knew, she'd know how awful I am. How evil I am. How can I be good when they were always so sure…

"You can't. You must be crazy," I manage.

She moves back, taking both my hands in hers.

"Why?" she asks.

I have to tell her. I have to get it over with. I want to lie, I never want to tell, but…

"I'm bad, Regina. I'm… I… I was awful, in the homes. I was stupid. I was so, so weak. I just let it happen, there was one guy and I just let him, let him beat me. I didn't stop him from hurting the others. I even got to feeling like I deserved it. And now, I almost… I almost want people to be rough with me. I almost want to be hurt, because… Because I still feel like that."

She's still holding my hands. I know because I'm looking at them. I can't look at her. Then she lets go with one, and gently lifts my chin with her fingers. I don't resist. It's like I just said. I don't have it in me.

"Emma, I… I am so sorry for what happened to you. It was wrong. But _you_ did nothing wrong. You did not deserve it. And Emma… I don't think you're weak. I think you're the strongest, bravest person I have ever met. And you should remember, I know Henry."

"How can you say that? Henry _fights_. That's what strong people do."

"Henry has adults all around him who help him, who care for him, who love him. You had none of that. Emma, you're in college, doing brilliantly in college-"

"I'm failing your class," I point out, making a joke, suddenly unable to cope with the seriousness of the conversation.

Regina looks at me and for a second she seems sad. I know she wants me to be honest, she wants to get through to me. Maybe she has some kind of saviour complex. Maybe she really cares. Either way, she overcomes it, and rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to catch up. Your grade is at my discretion."

"I wonder how I could persuade you..?" I tease. But she draws the line at this.

"You don't have to do that, Emma. That's not why I'm interested in you."

For a second I'm hurt. I tell myself that's not what she meant, but she catches my expression anyway. She stands, looking down at me.

"Oh, Emma, I _want_ you. But even if I could never touch you again, I would be there for you, because you matter to me as a person, a whole person. Not just a gorgeous body or a talented lover, not just a student, not just funny, not just smart, and most importantly, not just hurt. You're infinitely complicated, and I like you. A lot. In many different ways."

She always knows exactly what to say. I wish with all my heart that it could be enough, that it could be enough to stop the pain.

"You need a warm bed, and a good night's sleep. Do you work tomorrow?"

I nod. "But only in the evening."

"Do you want to come with me to visit Henry before that?"

I smile. I can't help smiling when she talks about the kid. He's so…

"Yes."

"Good. He will be delighted. Come on."

She leads the way upstairs, into her bathroom. We brush our teeth and wash our faces side by side, like a married couple. Her eyes twinkle at me in the mirror. Then we go into the bedroom. I can tell I'm not the only one imagining possible scenarios between those Egyptian cotton sheets. We have a lot more to talk about, but I'm beginning to realise that, with Regina, there's time. She's not going anywhere. I wish I could trust myself enough to be sure that I'm not, either. The closer we get, the harder it is to fight my impulse to run. But the closer we get, the surer I become that I have to.

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch?" she offers. I shake my head.

"If it's okay, I want you to sleep with me," I say quietly. She smiles.

"Of course."

We get into the bed, very quiet, not awkward, but cautious, I think. And then, before I can second guess myself, I lean over and kiss her goodnight. It's over in a second, and very chaste, but I feel her heart rate increase and I grin. She takes my hand, then takes a breath as if to say something. I wait, but she doesn't speak.

"What?" I whisper.

"Go to sleep," she tells me in her teacher voice. I giggle. I need to, I need something light.

"Not until you tell me."

There's a pause. When she does speak, she sounds a little embarrassed.

"I was going to ask if I could hold you," she says. "But I thought better of it, you probably-"

I interrupt by snuggling up to her, leaning my head on her chest, and wrapping my arms tightly around her waist, getting the hug I've been longing for since we first got back to the house. She holds me close and rubs my back, and I let out a sigh of relief. She kisses the top of my head; it's the last thing I register before I fall sound asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

I wake up shaking in the middle of the night. There's someone here, in my bed. It's happened before, but I'm just as terrified as the first time. I struggle, trying to break away from the grip the attacker has on me. There's a scream in the back of my throat but I know that if I let it out, things will only get worse. My fist collides with something and I shrink back, waiting for the retaliation. I force my body to freeze. I can't stop my heart from racing, I can't control my breathing, but at least if I stop fighting, it'll be over faster. I shut out everything, sound, smell, touch-

"EMMA!"

I flinch. There's someone leaning over me. I hold my breathe and squeeze my eyes tight shut. I'm not here. I'm not even alive.

"EMMA! It's me, it's Regina."

Regina?

I open my eyes. I'm still fighting for air, I'm rigid on my back in a bed, her bed. She's close, not too close, but as if she's trying to see what's wrong. As I slowly ground myself, remembering everything I learned in therapy (when they finally accepted I didn't want to take pills), I realise she has a red mark on her face, around her eye. It's already swelling. Finally, I make the connections in my mind.

I woke up in her arms. Regina's arms. Regina, who was trying to look after me, who cares about me. I woke up in her arms and I had a panic attack. I had a panic attack and I _hit_ her. I scramble out of the bed and run to the opposite end of the room.

She follows me, though.

"Stay back," I say, holding my hands out in front of me as if to hold her away. She stops, but doesn't retreat.

"Emma, I want you to breathe with me. I'm Regina, your friend, and you're in my bedroom. You were sleeping and I think you had a nightmare, and then a panic attack. Everything is going to be okay now. I'm here with you, you're safe, and it'll help if you breathe, nice and slow. Try to focus on my voice, Emma. I'll stay over here, but I'm not leaving, and unless it bothers you, I'm going to keep talking, so you can focus on my voice. Breathe, in for four seconds, out for four…"

She breathes; I copy. I've been taught this too. I breathe with her until my hands stop shaking, until my heart slows down, until my head stops pounding. By the time my body has returned to normal, the swelling on Regina's face is quite pronounced and a darker red.

"You should put some ice on that," I whisper.

She winks with her good eye. I see that she's terrible at winking. I giggle. It's what she wanted.

"You should see the other guy," she tells me. "Come on, you could use a glass of water."

I nod. She knows everything. I follow her downstairs; she fetches me the water, and only then does she finally get ice for herself - well, frozen peas wrapped in a cloth. She gasps softly as she presses them to her face.

"You pack quite a punch, Miss Swan," she tells me. I stare at the floor. I want to leave, I can't believe I hit her, but also, I hit her, and I want to do what she wants. Also, I'm burning with questions. There's one in particular that I can't hold back any longer.

"How do you know how to manage panic attacks?" I blurt out.

I'm thinking maybe she did a psychology class in college or something, but the real answer is far from any of my ideas.

"I have an anxiety disorder," she says. "I know what to do because I do it for myself."

I'm stunned. I have so many more questions. What happened to her? I realise I know almost nothing about her life before she had Henry. I panic because of what happened to me as a child. I begin to wonder what her childhood was like, and why she identifies with me so much. She sees me thinking.

"I'm not interested in helping you because I see myself in you, Emma. We do seem to have some… troubles, in common, but we are unique individuals, and I want to help you because of you, not me."

I nod.

"How did you get to be so smart?" I ask. She chuckles at the childish question.

"Baby, I was born this way," she jokes. "I read a lot, though. And I suppose, past experience gives me an idea of what your fears and suspicions might be. I still worry, when people are kind to me, whether they are genuine."

We're in her kitchen. She hops up to sit on the counter; I lean against the opposite one, watching her. She somehow seems far older, and far younger, than she is. I check the clock on the microwave. It's 4am. I take a deep breath.

"I was…" I whisper, my voice trailing off into the night. "Sometimes, when I wake up, I feel like I'm still back there," I say in the end. "I'm so, so sorry I hurt you."

She smiles from behind the peas.

"I'm fine, I promise. I'm sorry I didn't think to… I should have been more aware. Sometimes I snuggle in my sleep."

"No," I say. "No, it wasn't your fault, you did nothing wrong, and also…"

She waits. She almost asks, I see her lips move. She has so much control, though.

"I like it when you hold me," I say.

"You don't have to say that."

"It's the truth," I promise. "I… It was the nightmare. But I don't want to hurt you again."

"You won't."

"Regina, I-"

"I trust you, Emma."

"It's not as simple as trust."

"You're right… But I've seen it now. I know what to expect."

I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. I want to hug her. I want to believe that she's safe with me. There's a thought in the back of my mind suggesting maybe that's not the only problem. I know that I can control myself. She's not in danger from me, not really. But it's much easier to haul out what happened tonight, to turn it into something huge, to paint myself as a monster, than to admit I might be afraid that I'm not safe with her.

"You should go back to bed," I say quietly. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"I have a guest room-"

"The couch is fine," I say, my voice hard, almost cruel.

She slips off the counter. She's trying to read me, trying to follow my mind, but I remain cold. She dumps the peas in the sink, the loud thunk they make the only indication of her frustration. She reaches out and brushes her fingers against my shoulder.

"I'm not going to push, Emma. But neither should you," she says gently.

It's the first time she's implied I might be wrong, that she might be mad at me. I can't put it into words, or even into coherent thoughts, but I know what she means. I want more than anything to run after her, to follow her upstairs and get the hug I'm desperate for, but I hold myself back. I leave the kitchen and pad through the house. There's a blanket on the back of the couch and I curl up under it, hugging my knees to my chest.

BREAK

I wake up to see Regina sitting Indian style on the coffee table, complete with a cup of coffee in her hands. She's watching me, and boy, I've given her a shiner.

"You didn't come upstairs," she states. I sit up, pulling the blanket with me. I don't know what to say.

"You can tell me," she says.

"I know," I reply. "But you won't like it."

"I like this less."

I reach out and take her hand, inviting her onto the couch. She sits beside me. I can feel tears welling up behind my eyes as she puts down her coffee and envelopes me in a tight hug. I wrap myself into her and ignore everything else. I feel myself start to cry. She rubs circles on my back.

"I hurt you, and I'm crying," I say in the end. "This is stupid."

"I don't think it is."

"I… I want to trust you…" I begin.

"But you don't?"

I tuck my head down, snuggling against her chest. She strokes my hair. When I don't move, she takes it out of the braid, until it's a mass of curls pouring down my back.

"I want to." I pause. "But I don't know anything about you."

She still holds me, her moving hands telling me she's listening, thinking…

"You know about Henry," she says, but she's not really being defensive, she's just continuing the conversation.

"He's not you," I say. I feel her nod.

"You're right. You don't know about my childhood. Do you…" She's nervous. Somehow, I'm amazed. She's so put together. How can she be nervous? "Do you want to?"

I look up at her. Her dark eyes are glassy with memory. She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"I don't want to change the way you look at me," she whispers. "It's selfish, but with you, and even with my son, I get to feel like… I get to feel strong. Good. I don't want revenge or retribution. I'm not in pain. I can actually make things _better_."

I sit up, balancing us, putting us on the same level.

"But if you don't tell me anything, if you… If it only goes one way, we're not equal."

"I don't need what you do, Emma."

"No. But you need someone to care for you. Everybody does."

She smiles ruefully. "You're right, of course. I want you to know, Em, I never thought of you as anything less… In fact, I think you're better. You're far more of a person than I think I'll ever be. You have so much passion, so much drive." She bites her lip. "For a very long time, I believed myself to be worth no more than property. Property of my family, then property of my husband. My family had a lot of money, and assets they wished to preserve. I'm an only child, so the preservation fell to me. I did my duty, I did everything I was supposed to. Henry was born and for a little while, everything was perfect. I'd done everything I had to, and I'd done it well. He was a beautiful baby. But then we found out he was sick, and I was a failure again. This time, though, I wouldn't accept it. I loved my son, I didn't care if he was sick, I didn't want another baby to replace him, so I… I left. I got away. But I'm not a strong woman, Emma. Not on my own. I did it for him, not me."

"That doesn't make you any less strong," I tell her.

She shrugs. She looks smaller than I've ever seen her. For the first time, I consider the possibility that sometimes, she might be just as small as me.

"I allowed a lot of things to happen to me. Bad things. I never fought back. I never even _considered_ fighting back."

I don't back down. "Maybe that was the strongest you could be."

Again, she shrugs, a tiny raise of her shoulders.

"You are too kind to me, Emma."

I look pointedly at her bruised face. "Then you're _way_ too kind to me."

"Perhaps that's true. I…" she holds me more tightly as she considers her wording. "I share very little. Please be patient with me. Slow as you are to trust, I fear I may be even slower."

"Okay."

It's the first thing she's asked of me, the first thing I can do for her, and it feels wonderful. Suddenly I'm smiling, grinning at her confused expression.

"What?" she asks, catching my smile without meaning to, reflecting it back at me, looking almost childishly young.

"It's funny," I try to explain.

"What is?"

"Us."

And then I'm laughing, and it doesn't take long for her to laugh to. It's just so ridiculous. She's my _teacher_. I was supposed to be working with her to make up extra credit. And then I just wanted to sleep with her. And now she's like… Like my best friend. The one person I might trust. And she has a sick kid and a screwed up past to rival mine and we've broken so many rules and we aren't even doing that any more, we're just curled up on her couch under a too-small blanket, laughing our butts off at this crazy-ass world.

When we've calmed down enough, Regina leans forward and picks up her now lukewarm coffee. She offers the mug to me and in the end we share it, waking up, and then she puts the mug back down and pulls me into a hug.

"I'm so glad you're here, Emma."

"Me too," I murmur.

I tilt my head up to look at her again; she looks into my eyes and I can see exactly what she wants and it's what I want too, what I really want. No role play, no games, just… I press my lips against hers, slow at first, almost tentative. She waits, following my lead, holding me, but her mouth opens instantly when I suggest it with my tongue. We kiss more and more deeply, moving together. Somehow I end up on top of her, our hips rolling as we easily fall into a rhythm. All of the tension, all of the worry, seems to evaporate when I'm kissing her. I feel her relax, I feel my head stop aching-

"Emma?" She turns her head. I move down to kiss her neck; her breathing is a sure sign she's enjoying it, but I know she's about to stop me.

"Emma, we should go see Henry…"

Her body's still moving with mine, but reluctantly I slow down, giving her one final peck on the lips before pulling away.

"Breakfast?" she asks, getting up and strolling to the kitchen as if we haven't just had the deepest conversation of our relationship followed by a teenage-style makeout session on her couch.

I take a moment to get my head back in gear.

"I don't have any clothes," I realise. She chuckles.

"We'll find something. I guess shorts of mine won't look too strange? Or you can wear pants and roll them, like cut offs."

I stand up. I'm always surprised by how tiny she is when she doesn't have heels on. She's looking in the fridge, now.

"How hungry are you?" she calls from inside it.

I run my hands up her sides and when she shivers, it's not from the cold.

"Emma," she says with a sigh. She stands and turns so she's facing me. She kisses me on the cheek. "Later?" she suggests. "I can pick you up from work."

I sigh back. "Fine."

She laughs. "Remember, dear, I'm an old woman. I can't get going so early in the morning."

"Liar," I laugh back.

"Go raid my closet. I'll cook something."

"I'm fine with just fruit loops…" I say, exploring her cupboards in search of cereal.

"I'm afraid I don't have any. How about pancakes?"

I look at her in amazement. "Really?"

"Yes," she says slowly, not understanding what could be so special about pancakes. She follows me to the cupboard I have open and stands on tiptoe to take down a packet of chocolate chips. My eyes widen even further. She shakes her head, amused.

I go upstairs to find clothes; I choose a pair of denim shorts and a long sleeved black and white striped t-shirt. I leave my hair down for once, since it's still so curly, and after a search of almost the entire house wondering where I could have left them, locate my sneakers in the laundry room. They are somehow perfectly dry. My socks from the day before are clean and dry too. Maybe Regina's magic.

When I return to the kitchen, there is a huge plate of chocolate chip pancakes on the table, accompanied by a bowl of fruit, two glasses of OJ, syrup, and two mugs of coffee. Regina is not there, but she comes in behind me, slipping her hand in mine. We stand there, looking at breakfast, for a long time. I don't know what she's thinking, but I thank her in my mind, over and over, for giving me this… This place. This person to go to, this house where I'm safe, this table full of breakfast.

"You even dried my sneakers."

She's still looking at the table, but out of the corner of my eye I see her smile. It's a strange kind of smile, not even happy, exactly, just there, like… Like this is how things should be. I think far more than I say to her. I worry I'm not saying enough.

"Thank you," I say, putting emphasis on both words, trying to convey how much they mean.

"It was my pleasure," she replies honestly.

"I could wash your car!" I say suddenly. She does look at me, now. Her eyebrows ask the question her mouth doesn't need to. I stumble a little over my answer.

"I mean, you've done so much for me, and you have more stuff and a place of your own but really you have so much to deal with and I can say thank you until I'm blue in the face but what I really want to do is something useful for you, you know? Like you cleaned and dried my clothes and made me coffee and breakfast and fetched me when I ran in the storm like an idiot and let me stay here just because I wanted to and I want to do something back. And you're really clean and neat and I'm much messier so when I'm in my own crappy clothes, of course, I was thinking that I could wash your car."

I can see that she's trying not to laugh, but I know from her eyes that she's not laughing at me, just at the way I spoke. I want to laugh, too.

"Yes, please," she says, grinning. "That would be great." She takes a step forward, still holding my hand. "Shall we eat, now?"

I nod, but I don't move. "What were you thinking about?" I ask. She looks at the table, then back at me.

"It's hard to put it into words. I was thinking… To put it simply, I suppose I was thinking about how nice it was to have someone to eat breakfast with, and how much I would have liked that in the past, even though I didn't know it until this moment. I eat alone a lot. I never realised I minded."

"You should teach me," I decide. "So tomorrow, I can make breakfast for you."

We go to sit down. I don't want to let go of her hand, despite the impracticality. She laughs when I don't, then switches our hands so we're holding left and left, sitting opposite each other. It's silly, but I guess we need that. We eat one handed, goofy and awkward, and we don't let go until we leave the table. A lot of times in the system, I didn't know where my next meal was coming from, so I instinctively wolf down my food, focusing on consuming the greatest possible quantity in the shortest possible time. But today I manage to slow up a bit, enjoying the delicious food, enjoying the company.

I see her watching me. I'm watching her too. I swallow my last mouthful, then squeeze her hand a little tighter.

"This morning, earlier, you said everything's going to be okay. I believe you, you know."

She smiles, and returns the squeeze of my hand.

"When I look at you, Emma, I believe me, too."


	11. Chapter 11

We sit in silence in the car on the way to the hospital. It's not uncomfortable, we're just both thinking. And we have a lot to think about. Not for the first time, I wish I could read Regina's mind, but I check myself. She deserves privacy, she deserves to choose when she lets me in, she deserves time and trust, and I can give her that. I want to give her that. And yet, I can't completely control my curiosity. It frustrates me, but I want to know everything about her. All her secrets, all her memories, all the things that make her who she is.

I know her, I tell myself. But at the same time, I wish I knew all of her, and not just the parts she's ready to show me. What happened to her? Who hurt her? Who didn't she fight? I think it must have been her parents, her family… But she's such a loving mother. I wonder where she learned it, but I realise that's foolish. I can love, I really can. Maybe not myself, but Henry, Regina… You don't need to feel loved to be able to love others. Sometimes I think they're almost separate emotions.

I watch her driving; she watches the road, not even glancing at me. She seems almost haunted. I want to reassure her, I want to be her knight in shining armour and chase her ghosts and demons away.

She pulls up in the parking lot and still we sit, not speaking, until something seems to click inside her and she finds her smile again. She's Henry's mom, now. She's beautiful like this, but I can't forget her expression a moment ago. He shouldn't know her pain, I guess she's right to do it, to hide that part of herself from him, but… Somehow I feel horribly hurt on her behalf, hurt that she cannot even be her whole self with her beloved son.

"He'll be very happy to see you," she tells me. I smile. If she can do it, so can I.

"I can't wait," I say honestly.

We walk through the hospital. We reach Henry's ward; he's sitting up, but still in bed. The other children are more mobile. I wonder if I should be worried. If Regina is, she masks it perfectly.

As we get closer, I see how pale Henry is. He's clutching Jet tightly to his chest, and I see a tube going into his central line. Regina catches something in his expression and whisks a bowl off his dresser, putting it under his chin just in time.

I've seen kids puke before, plenty of times. Bugs spread like wildfire in the group homes. But it was never quite like this. Henry seems to be emptying his entire body, and yet, when he looks up from the bowl, he smiles like it's Christmas morning.

"Emma!" he exclaims happily. "You came back."

"Hey, little firebreather," I say weakly, remembering what he told me about being a dragon.

Regina embraces her son, murmurs something in his ear which makes him giggle, then winks at me and leaves the room, carrying the bowl of puke. Goddess.

"Where's she off to?" I ask.

Henry shrugs. "She's a free woman," he says deliberately.

I narrow my eyes. "Did she just tell you to say that?"

He puts on his best puppy face. "Nope."

"Okay, you stick to your story. How're you doing, kid?"

He fiddles with the tube. "New meds," he says.

"Hey, kid, you ever read the Wolverine comics?" I ask, struck by a bright idea.

He shakes his head. I hope his mom won't mind; I pull a picture up on my phone.

"Wolverine's like… A total badass. But he started out just like a human. Then, some people, like weird doctors I guess, pumped him full of stuff, like your meds, and turned him into this _crazy_ strong superhero. It hurt like hell when they did it, but afterwards, he felt awesome. He had some wolfy features, that's why he was called that, but I'm sure we could stick dragon ones in your cocktail instead."

Henry doesn't answer, but he looks at the picture with interest. He flicks through some more, and is fascinated by Wolverine's claws.

"Will my wings be like that?" he asks.

"If you want them to be."

He doesn't answer; at first I think he's not that interested and I'm a bit disappointed, but then I catch another signal just in time and throw another bowl in the way of a fountain of vomit.

"Some warning would be nice," I tell him, surprising myself at how not-grossed-out I am. I just think he's brave. He flops back into the bed. I'm left holding a bowl of puke. Okay, now I am a little grossed out.

"Where do these go?" I ask him.

"Over your head," he says weakly.

"You're a little sh- a little booger, you know that?"

He giggles. "Once, I didn't have a bowl and I got Momma."

"You don't need to sound _quite_ so proud of it, dear," Regina says from behind me. A nurse is with her - another angel, who takes the bowl off my hands.

Henry has the decency to look a little sheepish. "I'm sorry about your jacket. But your face was so _funny_."

I look at Regina, then back at Henry, who does a fantastic expression of his mother looking aghast. Regina bops his nose, then wipes his mouth with a wet wipe she seems to produce from thin air. We rearrange ourselves so we can all see each other. I realise Regina has changed into a hospital gown.

"Shit, I forgot. I mean, uhm, darn it. Sorry, Henry."

"It's okay. Momma says bad words too, when she thinks I can't hear."

Regina pretends to be horrified that he would say such a thing. I put a gown on over my regular clothes. Henry sighs.

"Am I not good enough for you?" I tease.

"Is that Momma's shirt?" he asks suddenly. I laugh.

"Yep. Bet she doesn't give _you_ her shirts."

Henry makes his best angel face. "She gives me anything I want. Except candy. And a remote control car. And one of those games like the other kids have that you can play on even in bed."

"Books are better anyway," I say, smiling at Regina's parenting.

"That's true," Henry concedes. He coughs, I look around for a bowl but that's not what he needs. Regina presses his call button.

"Sometimes," she informs me, "dragons need a yucky tasting drink, that makes their throats feel a lot better."

"You can taste it if you want, Emma!" Henry croaks gleefully.

It's vile, and it sticks in your throat so no matter how much soda you chug afterwards, you can't quite get rid of the taste.

We stay most of the day. Henry is full of a bizarre kind of energy - physically weak, but requiring constant entertainment. The highlight of the day is the seventh game of snakes and ladders, where I get so bored I start making up rules. At first Regina's pissed, but then she gives up her boringness and joins in, smiting me with a fireball, then helping Henry reach the 99th square (but not the 100th, because he should win on his own).

He gets a bit teary when we say we have to go. After a nod from Regina, I explain about my job, and another nod allows me to agree to his request that I'll come back tomorrow. I have to work most of the day, but there's a bus I can take to visit him right after.

"I have a meeting in the evening tomorrow," Regina admits as we walk out (after multiple hugs and kisses, including of the dragon). "I can drop you home when I go there, but," she does the math in her head, "that would only give you a half hour here. You don't have to come, it's a bit of a waste of time."

"I'll still visit, I said I would," I say with certainty. I've been let down enough times, I know how shitty it is. "I guess… I mean, if you don't mind…" I trail off, not speaking again until she gives me a look that's a combination of flirtatious and commanding.

"Yes, Emma?"

"I could stay with him without you," I say. "For a bit longer, til they go to sleep. Then I'll take the bus again."

"You don't have to do that, Emma. I'm touched that you're so kind to him, but you don't have to do all that."

I smile at her. "I want to," I say. And then she's looking at me in a whole different way.

"Why?" she asks quietly. We're back at the car, standing outside it. We have to get in, I'm going to be late for work, but I stop anyway, and just stare at her. I can't read anything in her face, she's still in Henry mode, but that flicker in her eyes…

"Because he's awesome," I say. "Duh." But I know that's not really what she's asking. She knows how great her kid is.

I feign ignorance, but I know what she means. She wants to know why I'm here, why I care, why I'm steadily becoming part of her family, part of not only her life but her kid's life. She wants to know why I'm doing it, why I'm here, and why _she_ matters so much to me. Because I love the kid, but I'm not a saint. I don't volunteer, I hardly thought about sick kids and definitely never did anything for them before I met Regina. Maybe that makes me selfish, maybe it's just human… But a part of me caring about Henry is that he's Regina's, and she's made that connection, so even though it's more than that, and even though we both know I'd want to see Henry whatever happened with Regina in the future, my giving up my free time to entertain her son is another sign for Regina that I _really_ care about her.

I guess she might have been able to write it off as need, before. I need someone, I need a friend, I need love, I crave it. And she gives that to me, so I need her. But she can't blame me spending time with Henry on need.

"Emma…" she says, trailing off.

"You're worth it. You both are. And after I see the kid, when you're done with the meeting, I want to see you. _Want_ to. Not need."

The word catches her, like I thought it would.

"Emma, I…" she still can't say it. I take her hand.

"Maybe we can finally go to dinner?" I suggest. "And dancing?"

She smiles. She has to. I can see her fighting it, I can see her fighting the idea that anybody would want her, sick kid, scary past and all.

"Okay," she says quietly. "I'll text you when the meeting finishes? I'll pick you up."

"Sounds perfect."

BREAK

M's sitting on my bed when I get back from work. She looks kind of sad. I feel a little guilty, but I'm not quite over being mad at her.

"We miss you. Your _friends_."

She stresses the word, like the people I've been choosing to spend time with are somehow lesser. But she does have a point. I care about her, and my other friends, too. It's just that I can't be _real_ with them. I have to be tough, I have to be the goofy, funny girl they got to know. I can't just be me.

"I miss you too," I say gently. I don't want to fight any more.

She smiles weakly. "I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't judge you."

I smile back. "No, you shouldn't. But I know you want to look out for me."

"You actually seem… Better. Like someone's helping you chase the clouds away," she says. I consider the expression. I like clouds; I _love_ rain. But I know what she means. Meeting Regina, meeting her properly, was kind of like waking up on a new day, a day with light and sunshine and happiness.

"I feel better. She's great, you know."

"I figured she must be."

"We're going out for midnight ice cream if you want to come…" she says cautiously. "I said I'd try to bring you but you don't have to, I mean, it's okay-"

"I'd love to come, M," I tell her. She launches herself off my bed and I almost topple over with the impact of her power hug.

BREAK

They're all there, Neal, Killian, Ruby, Belle, and M's boyfriend David. We pile into Killian's shitty old car and he drives like a maniac to the nearby late night diner.

"The wandering hero has returned," Neal says as I get into the car.

"Where have you been wandering, Em?" Ruby demands. I'm pressed right up against her. I lean on her shoulder, choosing not to answer. She strokes my hair.

"Weirdo," she says fondly.

"Oh, Belle! I showed someone else Carmilla."

Belle grins. "I bet she loved it."

"How did you know it was a she?"

Belle chuckles. "I'm good at reading people." She looks pointedly at Neal and Killian, who are blissfully oblivious to what she's hinting at.

"Hell, woman, you probably realised before I did," I say with a sigh.

It's strange, being back with my friends, with the people I'm supposed to be with. I try to be myself, I try to be more honest with them, but somehow I fall back into my place and no matter how much I like them, I'm smaller, here. I don't know how to feel about it. I want them in my life but I also… I want to be with Regina, I want to be with Henry, I want to… I want to be somewhere where I don't feel like a charity case.

Later, wriggling around in my own, uncomfortable bed, I practically have to lie on my hands to stop myself from texting Regina. _I miss you_.

BREAK

On the bus, hair still damp from my hurried post-work shower, I listen to music and pretend I'm in a movie. My mind's a cacophony of mixed feelings. I can't wait to see Regina and Henry, but I can't get rid of this edge, the edge fuelled by M's pitying gaze and Neal and Killian's snide comments (when they finally caught on the night before).

I'm still feeling pretty strange when I go into Henry's ward. He's feeling better today, sitting in his chair and chatting to another kid. Regina's perched on the edge of the bed, looking pensive. I sit beside her and slip my hand into hers, loving the way a smile blossoms across her cheeks before she even looks at me.

When she does look, the smile becomes a little rueful.

"It seems only one of us can be comfortable at once," she says. I sigh, leaning my head on her shoulder.

"I'm going to ask you, later," she warns me.

"I know," I say.

She puts her arm around me and I curl up into her hug, realising how badly I needed it. We don't get long, though - Henry's seen me.

"Emma!"

I don't think he knows how to say hello without exclaiming it.

"Hey, kid," I say sleepily.

"Are you tired? You can use my bed if you like."

I chuckle. "You're sweet, kid."

A nurse comes around with dinner. Henry settles at his table, but he only picks at the food. I steal some of his fries; he hardly even fights me on it. Regina rolls her eyes at us, but I see her sneak one too. We get the kid to finish his chocolate pudding, at least.

"They add vitamins," Regina mutters in my ear. I laugh.

"That seems evil, somehow. Tricking them into being healthier."

"I wish his body was so easily fooled," Regina sighs, but she doesn't sound truly sad.

She has to leave as dinner is cleared away. Henry already knows I'm staying. Maybe my tiredness is contagious, because he's creeping into his bed as soon as she's hugged him goodbye. I move for the chair but he grabs me.

"Cuddle," he says simply. As directed, I climb into his bed beside him. He's on my lap in a flash, tucking himself into my arms, leaning on my chest.

"You have smaller pillows than Momma."

I laugh uncontrollably when I realise what he means.

"Um, sorry?" I say.

He looks up at me impishly. He's holding Jet on his lap, the same way he has me holding him.

"I don't have any pillows at all," he says, sounding almost sad.

I panic for a moment, wondering what to say. The obvious "that's because you're a boy" isn't enough. It never should be, society should be beyond the archaic and binaristic systems it so often seems to rely upon, but I'm not sure the right time to have this conversation is with a sleepy, sickly five year old.

"Lots of people don't," I say in the end.

He accepts this answer, stroking Jet's hair. Absent mindedly, I begin to stroke his. He smiles, leaning into me.

"You're not gonna puke, are you?" I ask him. "Because this is really nice right now and it would be just like you to ruin it."

At the last moment I'm worried he might not understand that I'm joking, but I hear a reassuring giggle. I figure growing up with Regina Mills must make you pretty well attuned to sarcasm.

Suddenly, he slides off the bed and produces a book of fairytales. It's huge. He dumps it on my lap, then climbs back and waits for me to lift the it and my arms so he can be snuggled again.

"Read," he demands. I pause, practising good parenting. He looks at me imploringly.

"Read, please?"

"Much better."

We choose a story (unsurprisingly, it has dragons) and I read. It takes me back to when I was a kid. I used to hate reading. I never complained, even when I had opportunity, so it took years of awful grades in school before anyone even considered the idea I might need glasses. I wear contacts now, mostly. As soon as I think of them, they start to itch.

I have my glasses and the contacts case in my bag. I try to finish the story, but I can feel my eyes watering.

"Henry, I gotta use the restroom real quick," I tell him. He lets me out of the bed.

"Hurry," he tells me. I chuckle, and go to sort myself out. Henry cackles when he sees the glasses. They're the cheapest kind, with thick black frames. I used to hate them, but I'm kind of fine with them now.

"Momma has some too," he tells me when I'm back on his bed. "But she only wears them when she reads. Is that like you?"

I explain about the contact lenses. "But I had them in all day, so reading was making my eyes a bit mad at me. They like glasses better."

"Why do you wear the other things then? They really go _in_ your eyes?"

"Yup. And… It's more convenient, I guess. Like when I'm working, my glasses would steam up, stuff like that. Also, I'm really clumsy, I'm always breaking glasses. Contacts are harder to damage. Unless you drop them down the toilet."

Another cackle. Then an embarrassed pause.

"What?" I ask, leaning round to catch his eye.

"Don't tell Momma, but I dropped Jet in the toilet once," he confesses. "Nurse Ana washed him right away, and I hadn't used the toilet yet," he adds hurriedly. I pull him, and Jet, into a hug.

"Wanna know a secret of mine?" I ask. He nods.

"I've been dropped in a toilet too."

I think he thinks I'm kidding. That's probably a good thing. I wasn't dropped, exactly. I realise I probably shouldn't explain getting flushed to him. I am _not_ ready to be a parent. He's glad he knows my secret, though, and that Jet and I have something in common.

I can see the nurses settling the kids to sleep and politely getting rid of the other guests. Henry notices too.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" he asks. I hug him again.

"I'll have to ask your Mom, but if I can, I will."

"Good," he says. I get out of the bed (he only clings on for a few seconds) and tuck him in.

"You should sing," he murmurs. His eyelids are drooping already.

"Sing what?"

"I don't know," he says tiredly.

I rack my brains for a song. God, I love this kid. That's probably how my subconscious makes its song choice.

After three minutes of softly sung Gloria Gaynor's _I Will Survive_ , which I hope he finds motivational, I leave the ward of amused nurses, push my glasses up my nose, and head for the bus stop. I'm still humming that damn song, but I realise, I'm not worried. Not about this. Henry's too much fun to be worried about. I'm beginning to understand what Regina does. She doesn't think of his deadly disease, she doesn't think of all the time she doesn't get to spend with him, she doesn't think of him in negatives at all. She just thinks of him as him, and she's happy for every second she _does_ get.


	12. Chapter 12

I get back to a thankfully empty room - patched up as we are, I don't particularly feel like M's supervision while I try on seventeen different outfits as I decide what to wear to dinner. I fire a text to Regina.

_On campus. How's the meeting?_

To my great entertainment, she replies almost immediately.

_**Painfully boring, dear. How was Henry?** _

_Great! We read stories and he made me sing._

_**I'm sorry I missed it.** _

_I'm not. I have a voice like a dying cat._

_**Now I am even more sorry.** _

_Aren't you supposed to be, you know, meeting?_

_**I can multitask. As I identify as a woman, this is supposedly quite easy for me.** _

_Ha. Rude, though, texting…_

_**Not at all. They cannot see me, I have my phone under the table.** _

_Sly. Btw, I just realised, I still haven't changed your name in my contacts to what I put when I first got your number._

_**I assume you wish to tell me what it is.** _

_I assume you're palpitating with curiosity._

_**If only you paid such attention to your vocabulary in class. Very well, Miss Swan, I will indulge you. Please, tell me, what do you call me in your contacts?** _

_Professor McSexy._

_**Hardly inventive, dear. One might even say, rather obvious.** _

_Cocky much!_

_**Quite the opposite, I assure you ;-)** _

I pause. I don't know how far to take this. I don't think she knows, either. But it's too tempting, and I'm itching to reply with…

_I don't know, Regina. You've always struck me as the one who wears the strap on._

I'm cringing as soon as I send it. It's too much, too crude, not her style. I feel even worse because she doesn't answer straight away. I tell myself she's in a meeting, she probably had to join in, but the minutes tick by and I become more and more certain I've put my foot in it. I practically dive for my phone when the next message appears, nine whole minutes later.

_**I cannot say that I have ever had the pleasure, though I would not be opposed to it if the opportunity arose.** _

I'm about to reply (with a combination of bemused emojis) when she sends another message.

_**I apologise for my tardy response. I was forced to participate in the conclusion of the meeting. I am finished now, would you like me to pick you up?** _

_Sure, see you in 5!_

I have another "oh shit" moment when I realise I'm standing in my underwear. My hair looks good, but that's about it. I hastily spray on some deodorant and roll on my tightest skinny jeans. They aren't fancy, but they make my ass look amazing. I reluctantly reject my red plaid shirt (the comfiest thing I own) in favour of a sleeveless off-white blouse. Then I grab my jacket, keys, phone, wallet, and toothbrush, and book it to the bathroom.

I make it outside just as she pulls up, and literally caught in her headlights, I realise I'm still holding my toothbrush and toothpaste. I'd throw them out, but it's a nice toothbrush and a new tube of toothpaste and I can't bring myself to waste them. So I shove them in my jacket pocket (they stick out) and dare her to question me.

She chuckles as I get into the car.

"I appreciate the commitment to minty freshness, dear, but I'm afraid I'm still a little confused as to why you have your toothbrush."

"Why d'you think I have it?"

"My first thought was this was your version of an overnight bag, but firstly, I think you might consider that presumptuous, secondly, you already have a toothbrush at my place, and thirdly, even _your_ overnight bag would need more than a toothbrush."

I grin. I like the way she glances at me while she drives. I grin even more when I look at her a bit more closely. She's wearing a tight black dress, in her full work-mode make up, and she has black stiletto heels, but to my delight, she's kicked them off to drive. Something about the contrast between the dress and bare feet makes her impossibly adorable.

"What?" she asks, sounding as cute as she looks.

"You drive with bare feet," I tell her. She chuckles.

"I like to _feel_ the car," she teases, putting on a husky voice and pressing on the gas pedal - which is reasonable, since we've just joined the highway.

After a moment, she shakes her head.

"No, I've still got nothing. Why do you have your toothbrush?"

I laugh. "No other guesses?"

"You're planning to eat garlic?" she says, her brow wrinkling; she knows that's not it.

I shake my head. "The truth?"

"Put me out of my misery," she says dramatically.

"I was late getting ready and I brushed my teeth last thing before leaving. I do it quite often, but I throw it in my bag. I only realised when I got outside that I don't have a bag to put it in."

She laughs. "That's far simpler than anything I'd thought of."

I consider this. "Answers often are."

"Very true," she says thoughtfully. There's a slight pause in the conversation then, but it's not uncomfortable. When we speak next, we do it simultaneously.

"So where are you taking me?"

"I didn't know you wore glasses."

We both chuckle.

"You wear glasses too," I point out. "You have them for reading."

"Observant. And I am taking you downtown, but we'll have to go somewhere that doesn't require reservations, I'm afraid." Suddenly she seems a little awkward. "I would have made one, I'm not usually so disorganised, but it utterly slipped my mind today-"

"Hey, it was my idea. And I don't like reservations."

I'm not really talking about dinner ones, and she knows that, but it still makes her smile.

"I like them," she says. "Your glasses, I mean."

"Thanks, but I think they make me look young and nerdy."

She looks around at me; we're stopped at a red light.

"Not really… I suppose," she chuckles awkwardly, "if I am quite honest, I said like them because I can tell you don't. You seem uncomfortable with them, you keep playing with them, and I've only seen you with them in class once or twice. You wear contact lenses, mostly?"

I nod. "Do you psychoanalyse everything I do?" I ask, but I'm not really attacking her.

"There is really nothing wrong with them. They change your appearance very little, and they do not change who you are at all."

I bite my lip. There are a lot of things I want to say. I take a deep breath.

"I don't mind how I look in them, really. Not any more. But they bring back memories."

"You needed them as a child, too?"

She only asks to give me time; she knows I'm ready to tell. I hesitate.

"Let it out," she advises. "These things, these stories that you carry, if they're pushing against the top of the bottle, let them out."

"You don't," I blurt out before I can stop myself. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, but only for a moment.

"I am something of a hypocrite. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

It's not much, but I can tell it's hard for her even to admit she has painful memories at all. Not for the first time, I'm very aware that she's no _better_ than me. She's different, her life has meant she deals with things differently, and she doesn't go wild like I do, at least not now she has Henry. I think helping me is helping her, helping her be more ready to talk about and deal with her own problems. I don't think she knows that, but I hope it's true. I've been silent for a while.

"Mine are not pushing," she says. She doesn't sound weak, exactly. A little tired, I suppose. I remind myself of just how much she _has_ shared with me, because Henry is a very big deal, and then I take another deep breath.

I take off my glasses and fiddle with them in my lap. I'm glad we're in the car; it's a perfect excuse not to look at her. I hear myself begin to speak, in a faraway voice that's hardly mine at all.

"I was in 5th grade and I couldn't read. I guess no one was worried until then because it's common for foster kids to do badly in school, but by the time I was ten, I could still hardly write my name. I was failing everything. I had a foster home at the time and my teacher called them in to speak to them and they told the long story of me being bounced around and how it wasn't my fault, and more importantly, wasn't _their_ fault, but then my teacher asked me some other stuff, random questions, like about the world, I don't even remember. And then she looked like she'd been hit by a lightbulb." Regina laughs, I fumble with my glasses again.

"She asked my foster parents if I'd had my eyes tested. They got all defensive and said they didn't know, and the next day my teacher sent me to the nurse and she did some stuff and everybody realised that maybe the reason I was so stupid was because I couldn't see shit. My foster parents, social worker, optician when I saw one, were all so mad at me because I never said anything, but how was I supposed to know? My whole life everyone had told me I was stupid; I just thought they were right, and all these blurry squigglies and stuff made sense to other people. When I got my glasses, to be honest, I just felt like an idiot. I'd spent _years_ not being able to do the things other kids could do, and I knew some people needed glasses, but I hadn't managed to figure it out. I never said anything, I never asked… In the system, you don't do that. You don't ask people for things, not ever. I learned that right at the start. So it wasn't really my fault, but I felt like it was…"

I trail off. Regina can tell we haven't even got to the good part yet. She waits, knowing I'll pick up when I'm ready.

"I got these glasses around half a year before I went to middle school, and I was so determined, I caught onto this idea of college and LA and all that crap and I studied like hell. By the end of 5th grade, I was caught up with the class, reading and writing, all of that. I knew no one liked me in elementary school, but I convinced myself that they'd just thought I was dumb. Having me over the summer was too much for my foster parents but I got a new family right before school started and they had a bunch of other kids and were definitely in it for the money, but they were okay, they fed us right and they weren't on drugs or anything.

"You gotta understand, I _loved_ my glasses. To me they were like, my saviour. They were what was going to make everything okay. My first pair were beautiful, the optician's stock was changing so they had a bunch of frames on sale and I think maybe the assistant took pity on me or something but they said I could have whatever frames I wanted, since they'd be switching them all out in a few days anyway. Mine were red, but they had this black etching on the side, kind of swirly, like fire or something.

"I walked into that first day of school with my head held high. I had my own bag, my own pencil, and I had my glasses. They made me feel so powerful. I actually felt _smart_. I'd never felt that way before. I was so sure, so stupidly, childishly sure, that I was gonna make friends, that my teachers were gonna like me… I was too keen. I forgot everything about shutting up and sitting at the back of the class. I raised my hand and answered questions, I even thought I was making friends. There were these two girls, they knew each other already but they talked to me at recess and taught me how to play jump rope.

"And then at lunch… I was walking with my friends to the bathroom. They were talking about some cartoon, I was pretending I knew what it was, it was all great, and then some 8th grade boys grabbed me. I recognised one of them as my foster brother. They dragged me into the boys bathroom.

" _This is who she really is_ , he yelled at my new friends, who were still standing in the doorway. I felt bad for them. They were totally stranded, they knew better than to get a teacher, they were too small to help me themselves, but they were kind. They didn't want to leave. _You're not like them, you don't belong near them. This is where you belong_. They dragged me into a cubicle. I struggled, I've always been scrappy, but there were too many of them, and… Well, after that, they left me in there, the bell had already gone off so they had to go to class. I coughed up all the water, tried to wash up… And then I saw them. Somehow in the scuffle, my glasses had come off, and then one of the boys must have stepped on them. Or stomped on them, probably. I'd been too busy choking when they left to really notice. I picked them up. The frame was bent, one of the arms had snapped off, and both lenses were cracked. I didn't cry about the cuts and bruises, I didn't cry about what was probably in my hair, I didn't cry about my soaked, gross clothes, but I cried about those glasses.

"I never went back to class. I didn't go to my new home, either. I just wandered around. It got dark… Eventually some cops found me and took me back, but my foster parents, understandably I guess, didn't want to keep me any more. I told my social worker I lost the glasses. I don't know if she believed me. I didn't want to admit… Anyway, they had to get me new ones, but they were big and ugly. They survived much better, loads of fights." I smile ruefully.

There's an interesting pause, in which neither of us say anything.

"Did the bullying continue, at the school?" Regina asks, although when I look over at her, she looks like she wishes she didn't. She can tell from my face, not that she needs to. She knew the answer before she asked, she just wants me to say it. And I realise that I kind of want to say it, too.

"Yeah. I'm a good mark, I guess."

"Because you're so brilliant," Regina says, by way of agreement.

"I never saw it that way, but if that's what you think…" I glance at her sideways, trying to be flirtatious, but she ignores my attempt to lighten the mood. She's thinking. Remembering.

"I have needed glasses for reading since I was a child, too," she says. She's trying to sound conversational, but there's a lot more to what she says than the words. I wait for more, but there isn't any. She pulls into a parking lot and concentrates on parking her car, then leans back in her seat.

"What was wrong, earlier?"

I'm kind of mad at her. I just gave her a huge personal story, but she won't give me the equivalent, even though we both know it's there. I know that's not how this works, I know we're not the same, but I want to know, I want to know more of her, and now she's asking about earlier and I'm thinking back to it and a significant part of me just wants to get out of the car and run. But the rest of me knows that I only want to do that to see if she'll run after me. Hell, not even that. I know she'll run after me. I want to know if she'll put her shoes on before she runs after me.

I'm struck by the knowledge that she really would, that I _know_ she would. I don't have to run because finally, there's someone that cares enough to chase me. I feel a tear dribble down my cheek. It's not really about the running, it's about the glasses and the story and Regina sitting beside me wanting to be close to me, and neither of us knowing how the hell we're going to do this. I wipe the tear, the one tear, away, and shove the damn glasses back on my face.

"I want _this_ ," I gesture to the pair of us with my hands, "so badly. Last night I was with my friends after work and I realised I just want to be with you, all the time, all the freaking time. I _missed_ you, I missed you and I was away from you for less than a day. The whole time I was with my friends, I just wished I could be hanging out with you instead, but that's…" I shake my hands again, trying to explain. "Is that really healthy?" I say in the end, asking it quietly, desperately worried that she'll pull away now I've confessed.

"I missed you too," she says carefully, looking right at me. "I think when people are fa- When people are starting to really care about each other, they _do_ think about each other all the time, they do miss each other, even if they're only spending a night apart. You're looking at me as if you think I hate you for telling me this, but I assure you, I feel quite the opposite about it. I want to spend as much time with you as possible. I find myself… I find myself feeling things I did not believe were even possible any more. I have worries, I have a lot of them, but… I want _this_ , too. Very, very much."

I don't break eye contact, but I'm still worried. "We don't even know what this is?"

She smiles, it's small, but very real, and all for me. "So what?" she says. I think she's telling herself too, but with those two little words, all my fears seem to drop away.

As they do, we see rain beginning to fall from the darkening sky, and our hands bump as we both reach over to take the other's. We laugh as our fingers weave together.

"Thank you," she whispers. It's for a lot, I can hear the weight of the words; I can see it in her big brown eyes. She's so beautiful. It's not about her physical features (though they are fantastic), it's about… Her soul. Her fingers, gripping mine. Her eyes, looking into me and not turning away even when they see my pain. She's thanking me for telling her, she's thanking me for caring about her, but mostly, she's thanking me for not pushing her. I have a feeling she notices everything I feel. She knows when I'm mad, when I want more than she's giving, and in this moment I think she's thanking me for not forcing something she's not ready for.

I still want to know. But as she thanks me, what I really want to know is _her_ , and she is not her past. She's not her pain.

It's raining harder. We still have the car engine on. I shrug out of my jacket, and turn on the radio, flipping through stations until I find what I'm looking for - classical. She raises her eyebrows, but I know she likes it. She's just… she just would. I like it too. It's even a waltz. Perfect. I crank up the volume and open the door of the car. She gapes at me; I run around to her side, take a theatrical bow, then pull open her door too.

She glances at her shoes, but decides against. I'm a bit worried she's going to tell me I'm being an idiot. I _am_ being an idiot. But then she takes a deep breath, smiles like a kid (looking so much like Henry it gives me the fuzzies), and takes the hand I offer her. She gasps at the rain, which soaks her in seconds, but it's a happy gasp, a gasp of freedom, of everything washing away. Rules, restrictions, _reservations_. The rain and the music sweep away everything else, all the walls, until there's nothing left but us.

I lead her into a dance, making it up as I go along, but moving in groups of three (which someone once told me is the only rule of waltzing anyway). She holds me, dancing as theatrically as I am (though I suspect more skilfully). It's not a happy, floaty waltz, it's something powerful and Russian and it sends chills to our bones and shivers up our spines and we whirl around together, in the rain, our expressions deadly serious, full of furious passion. I imagine us both in flowing ball gowns, in a fairytale world, a land and a time far from this one.

We don't stop until we're shivering wildly and the radio station's switched to something un-waltz-able. Back in the car, I wrap Regina up in my jacket, we turn up the heat (she even has heated seats), and she looks at me. She also looks like a drowned rat.

"That was amazing. How did you… How did you know?"

"I don't have to know all your secrets to get past your walls," I say. The answer's easy, though I didn't plan it like that. I pulled her out of the car to dance with me because I wanted to. What it meant for us just sort of happened. And I can tell it meant a hell of a lot.

She leans over, manoeuvring in the car until she's holding herself above me. She raises her eyebrows a little in question. She always asks. _Always_. She's the most powerful woman I've ever met, but she never forces me. She never controls me. I wonder if she knows how important, how amazing, that is for me. And then I nod my head and her lips meet mine, and it's wet and it's messy and we're stuck in the car and my toothbrush prods my butt. I retrieve it and when she realises what's happened she bursts out laughing, then I can't help it, I laugh too, then we kiss while we're laughing. We kiss as we smile, we explore and play and touch, we kiss until we're not smiling, until we're desperate, we kiss until the car is _way_ too small, we kiss until we're flushed and panting, we kiss until she falls back in her seat, gasping for air, incredibly flustered, and I mirror her in mine.

"Dinner?" she says, sounding more breathless than she probably meant to.

"Not hungry for food," I groan.

"One of these days, we're going to have to go to dinner. It's a dating must."

"So we're dating?" I say slyly.

She leans over and wipes a streak of her lipstick from my mouth, then examines her finger as if assessing the evidence. But then she grins.

"Not until we have dinner."

I am actually hungry, it's just hard to make food a priority right now.

"Can a date be to McDonalds?"

She gives me a death glare.

"What about In and Out?"

She narrows her eyes even more, but she can't hold in a giggle.

"I have an idea," she says. "Do you like Italian?"

"I like everything," I say. "But my favourite is Mills."

She rolls her eyes, then leans through to the backseat, producing a packet of wet wipes for us to clean ourselves up with (seriously, she gets them out of nowhere) and her jacket, meanwhile tossing my own jacket back over to me with a flashing eyed thank you. The heat of the car has dried us out for the most part, and after another exploration of the seat, she produces a large yellow umbrella.

"Yellow?" I ask, mock-incredulous.

"I like it, it's bright. Everybody has black."

"You're adorable."

"So are you. Wait, don't get wet," she says, getting out of the car and coming around to my side.

"Too late," I grumble. I don't think she'll hear, but the smug, flirty smile she gives me when she opens my door suggests otherwise.

"You can deal with it later," she mutters in my ear, trailing a hand down my back, then resting it around my waist.

I'm kind of disappointed she's suggesting _she_ won't be the one dealing with it later, but only on my basest level.

We walk along the street, then to my surprise, down a little alleyway. She ducks inside a tiny Italian restaurant. It's packed - I'm not sure how we're going to get a seat. I say as much. She chuckles.

"You can trust me with your deepest, darkest secrets, but not to get us dinner?"

"Whatever."

To my relief, a host appears in front of us and distracts her from my shameful comeback.

"Ms Mills!" he cries. "It's been ages. Come in, I'll take you through. Who's your beautiful friend?"

"This is Emma."

"Great to meet you," he tells me. He takes us to a table at the back marked 'reserved' and disappears to get us wine (non alcoholic, but apparently dinner isn't dinner without some kind of wine).

"So, who's he?" I ask.

"He's Luke, and as you see, he works here. But his uncle, Jefferson, is the owner. And Jefferson is Paige's father."

I try to remember. "In Henry's ward…"

"Yes. I… I do not go to support groups, I have met very few parents, but he brought me coffee one night that we both had to be there, about six months ago, and we got to talking… Henry and Paige have had a few playdates, and I had dinner with him and his wife here, once. I didn't know he owned it, but I loved the food and said so, and he told me I should come whenever I want. I have only taken him up on that offer twice before, both times with Henry."

Luke appears with the wine and I tell myself sternly to ignore the throbbing between my legs, and listen to his conversation with Regina instead.

"How's Henry? Paige is always talking about him. She says she wants to be a dragon too."

"He is doing well. Another cycle of chemo, he had a slight relapse. And Paige?"

"Good, too. Jeff visited tonight. She misses her hair."

Regina gives him an understanding smile, and we get on with dinner. I play with the ends of my own hair, and suddenly have the urge to shave it all off. It's a bit of a sappy movie thing to do, and I kind of know I won't do it, but, seriously, fucking cancer, making me feel guilty for having hair. I make a kind of growling noise. When Regina asks me what's up and I explain, she's obviously trying not to laugh. So I growl again, at her this time.

We eat a fantastic meal, then Regina watches me eat ice cream and I rub it in her face ( _not_ literally) because she had the opportunity but rejected it like the grumpy old weirdo she is. I explain that to her too.

"It is good to know what you really think of me," she says as we walk back to her car under the umbrella. I'm glad it's still raining, because we have to be so close to both fit.

We sit in the car again. I want to go home with her. I don't want to go back to dorms. Ever. It's not about sex, well, it was earlier, but I know, really, that I'm not ready, and I don't know if she is either. I just... I don't want to be away from her. I want to kiss her again. I want her to hold me. I want to eat breakfast with her, I want to wake up and not be alone, I want to feel cared for, and that I care for someone, I want… I want family.

We sit there, and I say none of this.

"Home?" she asks softly. I slump back in my seat. I have an annoying habit of turning into a toddler when I'm tired and I want something I think I can't have.

"Em-ma." It's gentle, almost lyrical, like a caress of my name. And it's a question.

"I don't want to go back there," I say, in a tiny, tiny voice.

"I don't think we should-"

"I don't want to do that either. I mean I do. But not tonight."

"Oh."

It's like a light comes on, a light on her rain-cleansed face. It's a beautiful light. It's a light that says, she heard me before, when I said I wanted to be with her all the time, but now she believes me. And when I see that light, a light comes on inside me. Because I heard her too, when she said she wanted to be with me. And now I kind of have to believe her too. People can lie. But lights inside them can't.

She looks at me, still shining, full of her light.

"Emma?"

"Regina?"

"Would you like to come back to my place?"

I grin from ear to ear.

"More than anything," I tell her. And it's not just an expression. It's the truth.


	13. Chapter 13

We run to the house, the umbrella with us but folded, and hurry inside. I feel a little awkward, not quite sure what to do next, but before I can worry about it, Regina takes my hand and pulls me upstairs to her room and then into her bathroom.

"You're cold," she tells me. "Take a hot shower, there is a towel for you there. I'll bring you something to put on."

"You're not staying for the shower?"

She smiles, then leans in to give me a peck on the cheek. I shiver - perfect timing, as always. She reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug, rubbing my back. I wrap my arms around her too and will time to stop, to freeze right here, but freeze is the wrong word - I shiver again and she lets me go so I can shower and warm up.

I'm quick because she's waiting. I emerge from the bathroom dressed in the grey silk pyjamas (and underwear which _has_ to be hers) she's left for me, but she's not in her room. Duh. There's another bathroom downstairs. I give my hair a last rub with the towel, hang it up on a suitable looking hook, then go to find her.

In the kitchen there's no Regina, but there are two large mugs with cocoa mix inside them, and a pot of milk on the stove. I start heating the milk and look around for cookies. She has a kid, she has to have cookies somewhere. The best I can find are some painfully healthy looking crackers, but beggars can't be choosers, so I nibble one. It's surprisingly tasty; I scoff it down and wonder if I'm sufficiently close to her to be allowed more. This line of thought, however, just makes me think I shouldn't have eaten one at all. I shouldn't have snooped around her kitchen, she just bought me dinner, she's giving me cocoa, and here I am, _stealing_ food. I put the crackers on the counter, not wanting to hide that I had one.

I get a bitter taste in my mouth; I wind my fingers together, staring at this box of crackers. How could I have been so greedy? How could I have stolen from her? I've ruined everything, she's never going to trust me now, I'll be nothing but a thieving orphan to her, just like I am to everybody else. My breathing gets faster and faster; I gasp for air, my hands shake, my knees tremble, my heart thunders in my chest. I'm still staring at the crackers. I start to back away from them-

And walk right into Regina, who catches me.

"I know I'm small, but please don't squash-" she begins to joke. But then she sees my face.

"Emma."

It's not a question, she's not asking what's wrong. She knows.

"It's Regina, Emma. You're in my house, in my kitchen, we just went to dinner, and before that we were dancing. It was a wonderful evening - for me, at least."

She keeps talking even as she hurries to the stove to turn off the heat under the milk, which is boiling over. I've ruined her milk, too. I've made a mess of the stove. I've made a mess of everything. I always make a mess-

"Emma." Louder this time, strong, clear. I try to hold on, but everything's slipping away, I feel my knees start to buckle, I want to run, to hide, to crawl under something and never come out.

"Emma, I'd like to take your hand. May I?"

My eyes flick from side to side, but I just about register the question, and nod my head. She takes my hand and holds it tight, rubbing circles on my palm with her thumb. I'm shaking so much I'm sure I'm going to fall, but she carefully guides me to a chair. I sit in it; she stands in front of me, keeping eye contact, keeping talking. I don't even know what she's saying, but I hold on to it with everything in my mind I'm still in control of and slowly she comes into focus.

"Emma, you're having a panic attack. Try to breathe with me…" She breathes, she counts, I copy. It takes at least ten minutes, but eventually the tightness in my chest starts to dissipate. I still feel terrible, I'm an awful person, I… But I'm breathing. And she doesn't _look_ like she hates me.

"I'm so sorry," I stammer. She continues to hold my hand.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she says gently. I look at the box of crackers and shake my head violently. She tugs a chair up behind her so she can sit right with me, then takes my other hand too.

"What happened, Emma?" she asks gently.

I stare at my knees. "I stole a cracker," I mutter, already flinching at the blow that's bound to come. Except… It doesn't. There's just silence. So much silence that I look up. And when I look up she's even more silent, because her eyes are silent too.

Then she leans in, very slowly, and kisses me on the cheek. After a moment, she kisses the other one too. Then she smiles, and kisses me on the nose. I smile. It's weak, but it's there. She smiles too, then catches my eye, her face only inches from mine.

"Do I seem mad to you?" she asks.

"I burned the milk-"

"I know. Do I seem mad to you?"

I pause. The answer's too obvious; I bite my lip. She smiles gently, moving back a little, giving me space, but not leaving me alone.

"It's not a trick, Emma."

I take a long breath. "No, you don't seem mad."

"Good. You're right. I'm not mad. Do I seem like I'm going to hurt you?"

"No!" I exclaim. She strokes my hands encouragingly.

"You're right. I'm not. Why?"

"Because you're a good person," I say immediately.

"Right," she says. "But even good people get mad sometimes. Why am I not mad that you ate a cracker and burned the milk?"

"Uh… You're a _really_ good person?" I attempt. She shakes her head.

"Not particularly. I love those crackers, and that was the last of the milk, so we can't have cocoa now."

"Shit, I'm so so-"

"No, Emma," she says. " _I don't care_."

"What? But you just said…" I trail off, totally lost.

"How would you feel if I ate _your_ crackers and burnt your milk? Would you be mad?"

"No, of course you could eat my crackers, and it's only milk-"

I stop in my tracks as I see her pointed expression. "Oh," I say.

"Why could I eat your crackers?" she asks.

"Because… Because I care about you. And they're…" I sigh. "They're just crackers."

She smiles. "So why can you eat my crackers?"

I make a face. "Because they're just crackers."

"Yes, but that's not the only reason," she reminds me. "You said something else."

"I…" I don't know how to say it. I think I know what she wants me to say, but what if I'm wrong? What if saying it will just be even more presumptuous?

"I think it would be good for you to say it. Would it help if I said it first?"

I shrug my shoulders. She squeezes my hands.

"I care about you, Emma. I. Care. About. You. So you can eat my crackers, and burn all the milk you want. You can sleep at my house, you can wear my clothes, you can use whatever of mine you want and even if you stain the clothes and keep me up all night and hog the TV remote and eat every last crumb of food in this kitchen, I will be happy, I will care about you, and I'll take care of you. I will _never_ hurt you, Emma. I don't know… I don't know what's going to happen between us, I can't see into the future but I can promise, I can promise you that I will never hurt you. I will never kick you out, I will never abandon you, and I will never..." she swallows. "I will never hurt you physically," she says. Her tone is hard and gritty, and I know she saw me flinch, but I have this feeling, this feeling that she knows a lot more about this final promise than she's told me. She gives herself a shake.

"So," she says. "Why can you eat my crackers?"

"Because you care about me," I breathe.

I practically fall into her waiting arms. She holds me close; it's awkward because of the chairs, we're a tangle of legs and knees and I end up mostly on her lap and it's like… It's like a part of the darkness inside me fizzes out, like it catches fire, puffs into smoke, and floats away.

"Yes, Emma," she breathes. We stay like that until she shuffles uncomfortably. I jump up right away. She chuckles.

"Hey, come back."

"You-"

"Have pins and needles. I don't care. I wasn't done cuddling."

She gets up, though, and hugs me standing instead. Then she fills the kettle with water, somehow keeping close to me even as she bustles around the kitchen.

"Tea?" she suggests.

"I… I've never had tea," I admit. I've always thought of it as something only… Only high register people drink. Artistic, knowledgeable people.

Regina stands on tiptoe to extract a floral tin from one of the cupboards, then presents it to me.

"There are at least a dozen types in there. I'll have apple and cinnamon if you can find one, the bags are all individually wrapped. If you're a rookie, maybe try the blueberry? Henry likes it."

I look through the tea, wondering how there can be so many different types of flavoured hot water. Then again, there are thousands of flavours of ice cream. Maybe tea is the yin to ice-creams yang. I'm tempted to try Regina's choice because of the cinnamon, but apples aren't my favourite and in the end I opt for blueberry, trusting Henry's judgement.

I watch, somewhat fascinated, as Regina unwraps the bags (in a motion similar to one I've used for condom packets - she laughs raucously when I tell her this) and drops them into mugs just as the kettle boils. She fills them with steaming water and delicious aromas waft into the air. It's like incense, only food flavoured and edible. I voice this too.

"Sometimes I make a cup of tea just so I can breathe it," she says. "Come on. Let's go sit on the couch and find a bad movie to watch."

I take my tea, feeling very small in her pyjamas despite being almost too tall for them. She's wearing a similar pair; I feel oddly like a child at a sleepover. We set down our tea on the coffee table then settle on the couch, not touching. Regina's hand finds my hair, gently twirling the damp curls that I know are tumbling down my back.

"My mother," she says, in an unusually reminiscent tone, "used to serve English Breakfast tea. She thought it was more refined than coffee. She had a willow patterned china pot, with matching cups and saucers and even a cake stand."

"Used to?" I ask tentatively.

Regina smiles, though there's no happiness to the expression. "Oh, she still does, I imagine. But I have not been in contact with her since I moved. She lives back East."

"Why would you not be in contact with your mother?" I blurt out. I feel foolish even as the words fall from my mouth. Her hand stills in my hair. Then she wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me into an unexpected hug.

I still can't stop the word vomit. A few seconds without an answer from her and it's pouring out of me again. "My mother cared more about drugs than she did about me. They found all kinds of shit in my system, I've seen the report. She left me by the side of a highway, she didn't even bother to take me to a hospital or like, even a freaking gas station. We might be biologically related, but she's not my family, and I've never wanted to find her… What I'm trying to say is, I didn't mean to say… I didn't mean… Moms can suck in a lot of ways, I guess," I finish lamely.

Regina pulls me even closer and kisses the top of my head. I look round at her and her eyes are glistening with painful memories, but instead of spiralling like I would have, the glistening fades while I watch.

"They sure can," she breathes. She slides over the words in an accent that's not her own, and I wonder where she is. Back in time, back in New York, back in a world she couldn't control.

We turn on the TV and drink our tea in silence, watching a truly awful docudrama that I get weirdly invested in (it's about an anorexic gymnast). When it finally ends (she quits gymnastics and gets an awesome boyfriend - aw) I turn off the TV. Regina's been so quiet I think she must be sleeping; her arm's slipped from my shoulder and she's leaning back into the couch. But when I turn around, I see that her eyes are open. She's not facing the TV, or even me. She's looking up at the ceiling.

"You ready for bed?" she asks. She sounds so distant. I adopt her tactic, ignoring the question.

"Your family. You and Henry. What you guys give each other… I wish I could have been part of something like that."

Her head snaps up. I'm surprised. She stares at me. Emotions flash across her face too quickly for me to read, but then she takes my hand.

"But Emma, you _are_ ," she says. "Aren't you?"

And I realise this moment is all on me. She's here. She cares about me. She's shown me over and over again. She's far from perfect, she's full of pain, but she's here, here for me, offering me everything she can. All I have to do is say…

"Yes."

It's a whisper, a shaky breath, full of trepidation. Having people means having people to lose. Having people means having people to let down. Having people means having to trust them, but it also means having to trust myself. And I don't know if I can. I don't know if I can trust myself not to hurt her, not to let her down, not to run away and leave her when everything gets too much. I've hurt her already. I _hit_ her. I've made assumptions, I'm so young and weak, I'm so much less than what she deserves. And yet, I have to say yes, because by some crazy miracle, she wants me. All of me. Not my body, _me_.

"Bed," she says softly. "Where would you like to sleep?"

_With your body wrapped around me, curled up in your arms._

She must be a mind reader.

"Come on," she says. She stands, she guides me by the hand, upstairs, into her bathroom. We stand side by side and brush our teeth.

It's a strange picture. Two silk-clad, bleary eyed, wet-haired women, brushing with aggressive synchronisation. The air's so heavy, so intense… We spit at the same time and suddenly I'm laughing. It's a strange laugh at first, hollow, desperate, but the more I think about it, us, in the bathroom, the movie, the panic attack, the exploding milk, the fact that she wants to be my FAMILY, the harder I laugh, and the laughter changes from almost painful confusion to delirious happiness.

She watches me with a half smile, wiping her face and waiting for me to get it together enough to explain the joke. Wheezing, still giggling, I finally manage,

"Best first date ever."

And then, when she smiles too, even in her eyes, I take a step, bend down to hold her gaze with mine, and press my toothpaste lips to hers. My toothbrush clatters on the tiled floor as our arms snake around each other, holding tighter and tighter. But they aren't squeezing life out. They're squeezing it in.

She doesn't grab my ass or fondle my breasts. Her hands don't explore under my clothes, she doesn't slam me against the wall with demanding lust. She just holds me, kisses me, slowly, softly. I'm burning with desire, but this… It's not about sex. She's kissing me, she wants me, but she makes me feel like whatever I am, whatever I want, whatever we're ready for, is more than enough to be everything.

We get into her bed and hold each other close, talking about nothing in particular. I want to move to the couch, but when I say this, she takes my hand and brings it to her face - which is visibly, though not badly, bruised, now she's removed her make up. She holds my fingers to where they hurt her, where I hurt her, then moves them to her mouth and kisses each one.

"I trust you," she says to my hand. Then she looks right into my eyes. " _I trust you_."

And so I stay. One night. One tiny piece of darkness, fizzing out and floating away. I wonder if any of hers floats with it.


	14. Chapter 14

I wake up alone. For a moment I think it's morning, but a glance at the radio clock tells me it's just before 4am. The bed's not cold, but I didn't notice Regina leaving so she must have been gone a little while already. Reluctantly, I get up too. She's not in the bathroom. I have the horrible thought that she heard something about Henry - that she heard something about Henry and didn't wake me up - but the thought is fleeting. I know her better than that.

I listen to the dark, biting my lip. I tiptoe out of the room - something about the nighttime silence makes me want to be silent too. At the top of the stairs, I can see the kitchen light is on. I chase down the light like a moth, my heart fluttering like battered wings. I pause in the doorway, still listening, not sure if I should knock. I can hear her moving, but then I also hear-

I push open the door.

"Regina?"

She's crying. Not princess crying, but real, human, animal crying, huge sobs ripping through her body as she scrubs non existent burnt milk off the hob with a scouring pad. She's wearing an apron over her pyjamas and her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail. She isn't wearing gloves, though, and her hands are red and raw from the bleach in the cleaner.

She doesn't answer me. She stops scrubbing, leaning both arms against the oven to support herself. Her whole body is shaking. I go to the sink and turn on the faucet, then carefully guide her hands under it. I don't hold her, I just touch, letting her move and control herself.

She gasps as the cold water runs over her hands. I leave her for a moment to wipe down the hob. It's so clean it sparkles. Then I hop up to sit on the draining board, flashing her a small smile. She's still shaky, but her hands are okay. She dries them on her apron and I pat the counter beside me. She's gathered herself enough to raise a scornful eyebrow before she sighs and hoists herself up to sit beside me. I put an arm around her and she nestles into my side.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?"

"I'm so sorry. I'm supposed to be helping you."

I hold her closer. "How about we just help each other?"

She lets out a long breath. "I… I'm not sure I know how to be helped."

I kiss the top of her head. It feels incredibly natural. "Just do what feels good," I say.

She curls even closer into me. "This feels good," she sighs. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was just going to clean the kitchen. Tidy house, tidy mind, that kind of thing. Then I was going to come back to bed."

"What's messy in your mind?" I ask. I'm not clever at this the way she is. I ask everything, I always blurt things out. But in a way this gives us a kind of balance.

"Not this. Not you. Not Henry."

I smile down at her. "So everything else, then?"

She chuckles weakly. "Something like that. How do you do it, Emma?"

I carefully tug her hair out of the elastic and run my fingers through it in the way I know I find soothing.

"Do what?"

"Destroy _everything_."

I flop back against the wall, my arms dropping from around her. She leans over me, though, and catches my eye.

"It's not a bad thing, Emma. It's… I built this perfect… This perfect castle around myself. A stronghold, a fortress around my heart. The only love, the only _feeling_ I had left was for Henry, and even then, it was protected, controlled. I always had to be strong. And then you waltzed into my classroom five months ago and… Something snapped inside me. At first it was just attraction, chemistry, excitement. But even those, I hadn't felt in years. And now, now it's like… All those walls, towers, defences I've spent so long perfecting… You break them down like they're nothing. You march right through them. Whenever I'm with you I'm completely exposed. In all my life I've never felt so naked. I've never felt so… So entirely out of control."

I sit up a little, the honesty in her eyes, the wild feeling, buzzing through me, settling in my abdomen.

"I'm so afraid," she whispers.

And I realise that, for the first time in my life, I'm not.

"I'll protect you," I say, the strange promise coming out of my mouth before I can stop it. "I'll be your…" I look for a word, thinking about fortresses. "I'll be your champion."

She laughs. "My white knight?" she teases.

I slip off the counter, dropping to one knee and bowing my head beneath her.

"At your service, Your Majesty."

She slides off the counter too and guides me to my feet. I look down at her tearstained face, her shiny eyes, her wide, hopeful smile. My heart swells with pride to be the cause of that smile.

BREAK

Work drags along, but even as my arms ache and my eyes sting with tiredness, I think of Regina, I think of Henry, and I think of the _whole day_ off I have tomorrow. The day that Henry will be home. _Home_. I realise, slightly nervously, that I'm beginning to think of it as my home too. Henry will be home, Regina will be home, I am spending the day with them, and Henry and I are going to wash Regina's car.

She's very amused that I'm serious.

It takes significant restraint not to go straight to the hospital after work, but sanity prevails. Just. I go back to dorms and pack a bag. It's pointless to pretend I'll be coming back tonight. Or all weekend. I've even swapped shifts so I get Sunday off too. There's a cynical part of me that scorns my excitement at a weekend of playing happy families, but for once I just brush those thoughts away. I'm not playing. It's not pretend. Regina and Henry are the most genuine, the most real friends I've ever had, and this weekend, I'm not letting anything, especially not my own fear, ruin it.

M's in our room. For once, though, she doesn't look like she's about to stage an intervention.

"You going somewhere for the weekend?" she asks. I can tell she's doing her best to be genuinely friendly and interested.

"Yeah, I'm gonna…" I sigh. I don't want to lie to her. "I'm spending it with Regina."

She raises her eyebrows (in a very dull, unattractive way) but manages to hold back anything judgemental she might be tempted to say.

"Well… Have fun." It only sounds a little forced.

"She's so good for me, M," I say gently. M smiles a little more realistically this time.

"I think… I think you're right. But she's still a teacher."

"Not _my_ teacher," I point out. "And anyway, you know me. I've never been good at rules."

"True. But… Look, I'm happy for you. I really am. But be careful."

I try not to be annoyed. I know she's looking out for me, she's been my friend for two years, and while we don't always see eye to eye, she's… She's a good person.

"Thanks. I will," I say. I give her a cheeky grin.

"What have you got planned for the weekend?"

"Date night with David," she says happily.

I wink at her. "Well, you be careful too."

She actually laughs. But I'm kind of glad I don't have parents to convince. If it's this hard persuading my friends Regina is a good thing, I shudder to think what justifying her to protective parents would be like.

I finish packing my backpack, running through a checklist in my head. I even have my own sleepwear. I wonder about getting a gift for Henry, but in the end I decide not to. I know Regina doesn't like to spoil him, and I'm planning for us to have so much fun, material things that I can't really afford are kind of unnecessary. It's still tempting, though. I wonder how Regina manages it. I'd want to shower any child with presents, and Henry is possibly the cutest child to ever exist.

I send her a text telling her I'm on my way. To my surprise, she calls immediately.

"Did you leave yet?" she asks, sounding breathless, not even saying hello.

"Just walking to the bus stop. Why?" I ask.

I hear her make a sound that's a mix between a chuckle and a sigh of relief.

"I had to pick something up from my office. I'm like, a minute away from you. Don't get on a bus."

"Uhm, okay," I say. As I hang up, I worry that I didn't sound grateful enough that she's giving me a lift. In truth, I'm just… In shock. In shock that I'm important enough to someone that they treasure even an extra twenty minutes with me.

It's a very pleasant kind of shock. I wonder how long it will last. I know, somewhere, that this kind of thing… It happens. People care about each other, they make each other hot chocolate, they give each other lifts, they dance in the rain, they even help each other through panic attacks. But I feel like there has to be a catch… For the second time that afternoon, I push away my doubts.

And when I hear the roar of a car pulling up behind me, those doubts all but evaporate. It's a clear, sunny day and Regina has the top down. She's wearing big, black sunglasses and a smile to rival mine.

"Hello," she says. I had no idea the word could be so delightfully meaningful. Or so sexy.

"Hi," I reply, jumping into the passenger seat over the door the way they do in the movies. My backpack makes it slightly less graceful than I intended, but Regina's amused, and that's the main thing.

She has some powerful French music playing on the radio. She hums along with it. She's driving without shoes again. Her hair's down and loose and slightly damp. She smells like summer and apple wine.

"What does it mean?" I ask softly when the song ends.

She glances at me, still smiling. "What do you think it means?"

I make a face. "I don't speak French."

She chuckles. "So what? It's music. What does it make you feel?"

"Like I'm in love," I breathe without thinking.

She doesn't chuckle at this. "Me too," she says. She scrolls through her phone, which she's using to play music, and puts on another song. It's much sadder, by the same singer.

"And this one?" she asks.

"Like I'm so in love my heart is breaking," I whisper.

"She's saying, don't leave me," Regina translates. Then she smiles again. "Henry heard it once, several months ago. He got me to translate and now, whenever I put him to bed and he doesn't want me to go, he says _Ne me quitte pas_. It… The first time, I very nearly cried. And then I just said it right back to him. But the thing is, he never will."

I look at her, waiting for the explanation. She touches the left side of her chest with the hand that's not on the wheel.

"He's here," she explains. "He can never leave me, here."

Now I _am_ crying, not with sadness or fear, but just with… Almost happiness. The strength of the bond between Regina and her son is so strong, so powerful… It could overcome everything. It's horrific to think of, but it could even overcome death.

BREAK

Henry is ecstatic to see us. He's already seen Regina, they had lunch together. He's off the drugs now and he even managed to keep most of the meal down. This requires a double fist bump, which he enjoys immensely.

"What time are you coming tomorrow?" he asks. Regina tilts her head to one side.

"Eleven?" she suggests.

" _Eleven?_ That's so _late_ , Momma! You gotta come earlier than that."

"Oh, I 'gotta', do I?"

"Yeah, you do!"

I chuckle at their teasing.

"What time would suit you, my love?"

Henry considers this. "Five," he says firmly.

Regina raises her eyebrows. "You won't be awake."

"I will!"

"Well, _I_ don't plan on being awake."

"But I gotta be home for breakfast."

She grins and bops his nose. "How about seven thirty?"

He frowns. "Six."

"Seven."

"Six forty-five."

" _Seven_."

"Fine. But there have to be pancakes."

"And bacon," I chip in.

Regina looks over at me, giving me a death glare. Henry giggles.

"Please can we have bacon, Momma?" he asks sweetly.

"At least one of you is polite," Regina says pointedly.

"Hey, I'm way more polite than he is," I say, sticking my tongue out at Henry.

"Clearly." Regina pretends not to be amused. We both see through it; Henry blows a raspberry at her.

We stay all through dinner, then read stories until bedtime. Henry, to my embarrassment, demands my "surviving song". With actions. Actions that incorporate Regina. The nurses look like they want to murder us. The other kids are laughing even harder than Henry.

"I'm not sure you've quite grasped the concept of a lullaby, Emma," Regina cackles once we're in the car.

"Excuse me for giving the poor sick kids a bit of fun," I say. Then I laugh even more. "I know the next one, too."

She looks at me, still laughing. I move my body, getting the beat, then,

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

Kissing in her car is turning into a fairly regular habit.

BREAK

Pizza. Disco music from before I was born. A movie even cheesier than our dinner. And no crying, no panic attacks, no scourer abuse.

I lean back on the couch, rubbing my stomach.

"God, Regina, I feel so _good_."

I spent the better part of the movie staring at her rather than the TV, and she definitely knows it. She's looking at me with dark, hungry eyes. My well-fed exhaustion disappears; I kneel up on the couch, looking down at her with a predatory smirk. She giggles.

"What? I'm trying to be sexy, not funny," I complain.

She reaches up and wipes a blob of tomato sauce off my chin, then licks her finger.

"As you were," she grins. I pout. She raises her face invitingly.

I lean in closer. "May I?" I breathe.

"Please," she replies.

Kissing on her couch is getting pretty regular too.

We fall into a rhythm that's quickly becoming familiar, lips and teeth and tongue trying to tell each other everything we haven't managed to say, and to affirm everything we have said. She tastes like the day, like pizza and soda and sunshine. Her hand's in my hair and it's soft and secure, keeping me with her but always asking, never forcing. Slowly, I straddle her on the couch, keeping a few inches between our bodies, letting her close the gap. She does so, gently, always giving me time to move wherever I want to be.

Her other hand rests at the small of my back. My top is short; it doesn't meet my shorts and her fingers easily find my bare skin. She massages it gently, gradually increasing pressure, tightening her hold but only in time with my hold on her.

My hands are almost desperate, caressing every inch of her I can reach, her jaw, her hair, her arms… I tug suggestively at her shirt. She smiles into my mouth then takes her hands off me. I let out a quiet moan of disappointment, but she winks at me and takes off her shirt. I take advantage of the space to remove mine too. She runs her hand down my neck to my shoulder, then traces along my collarbone until she's back in the middle. I take her hand and hold it over my breast.

She pulls me back into her, kissing me deeply. I hum with pleasure as I touch the exposed skin of her back, feeling her muscles ripple as she moves with me. I roll my hips unintentionally; I feel hers pushing up into me. She kisses along the path her hand took earlier; I lean back, breathing heavily as she finds more feeling in me than I even knew I had. Heat is pooling between my legs; I can feel my excitement coiling tighter and tighter in my abdomen. She reaches the valley of my breasts, then gently, carefully, stops.

"Come back," I complain, sounding embarrassingly childish. She chuckles ruefully.

"I would love to, Emma, but I fear I will soon find it very… uncomfortable, if I have to stop."

I think for a long moment. Then I look her right in the eye.

"If you want to keep going, I want that too."

Her dark eyes penetrate my light ones. "Are you sure?" she asks.

I think about everything that's happened in the last few days, everything we've done, everything we've become to each other. There are things I'm not ready to admit, not even to myself, but I know them all the same. And I know, for sure, that I _am_ ready for this.

"I'm sure. Are you, I mean, this isn't just about what I want…" I stumble a little. She smiles.

"Oh, Emma," she breathes. And then she stands, lifting me with her as best she can.

"I could probably manage a fireman's lift, but maybe you'd rather walk?"

I giggle, picturing her lifting me like that.

"One day, you're gonna have to demonstrate, but yeah, walking's good."

She looks back at the pizza box and empty glasses on the coffee table.

"You want to get those first, don't you?" I ask. She blushes.

"It's silly."

"So what?"

I pick up the glasses, making sure to give her a show as I bend down. She grabs the box and our napkins and we hurry to the kitchen. She's even more beautiful in this light, like, photoshoot beautiful. Her bra is dark blue and lacy; her pants are floaty black capris, and I think I'm addicted to just watching her, watching her do things. I rinse the glasses and put them in the dishwasher, then look around. She sees, obviously.

"Food? Drink? Other?"

I grin. "Inspiration. But water, please?"

She's standing by the refrigerator; she takes out a bottle and throws it to me. I catch it, open it, and drink some, in what I like to think of as one fluid movement. Then I hold it back to her.

"Want some?"

She moves around the island to meet me, then to my delight, hops up on the counter, swinging her legs. I especially like watching her stomach muscles when she jumps. She takes a drink, looking blissful. I almost wish I had a camera.

"That's you," I say suddenly.

She blinks. "How do you mean?"

"Like… Right now, sitting there, in the light, your expression, the way you're dressed, the way you're smiling, the look in your eyes… That's _you_. Your essence, you know?"

And then I realise I actually don't want a camera. Some things aren't meant to be captured, not even on film. This glimpse of her, it's magical. I'm honoured to see it.

"I love it when you look at me like that," she says, putting down the water bottle.

I don't need to ask, "Like what?" I already know.

She scoots off the counter and offers me the water one last time before closing it and putting it away.

BREAK

The weird thing is, we've done this before. The clothes are in the hamper, the house is clean and tidy, and now we're standing in her bedroom, a room that's quickly becoming _our_ bedroom, three feet apart, staring at each other like we could drink each other in like this all night.

We probably could.

I take a step forward. She takes a step forward. I don't even register how we cover the final step; our mouths collide and we pick up right where we left off on the couch only far more frenzied. I unfasten my shorts; she slips off her pants and I shimmy the tight denim down my legs.

Her underwear matches. Obviously. Mine does not. She grins at my Wonderwoman thong, hooking her thumb under the strap at the side.

"Fun," she laughs, guiding me to the edge of the bed as she presses kisses down my stomach.

"Tip of the iceberg," I manage, gasping a little as her teeth briefly graze my hip bone.

She moves up again, leaning over me on the bed. Her hair's messy, a little curly, framing her flawless jawline. I reach up, brushing her breasts, but moving on upward until my fingers touch her mouth. I run my index finger along her top lip. She has a scar. Somehow, it makes her even more beautiful. Imperfections are what make people perfect. She bites her lip, closing her eyes, then I move my hand back to her torso and sit up a little until I can reach her mouth with mine.

I kiss her, slowly, feeling her response. Her need is deepening, as is mine, and her hands leave my body as she undoes her bra. She helps me out of mine too and then she's kissing me everywhere, playing with my breasts with her soft mouth and tongue, rolling my nipples first with her mouth and then with her fingers as her mouth moves lower.

I lose all control of my body and mouth, releasing intermittent groans and curses as she brings every cell alive with passion and desire. I have this swelling feeling of belonging, of comfort, of safety in her hands. I'm proud of my body. For once, it just feels like part of me. And when Regina touches me, it feels like… it feels like she's _touching_ me.

We're so close, binding ourselves ever closer as we touch. I can't reach much of her now; my hands tangle in her hair and I try not to pull it as she tugs my underwear out of the way. She kisses my thighs, so close, I can feel her breath on my sex. her hands all over me, her tongue-

I cry out so loud when she first touches me _there_ , she actually pauses for a moment.

"Don't stop," I beg hurriedly. I think I feel her smile as she presses a soft kiss to my sex.

"You're so wet," she murmurs. Her voice makes me vibrate with pleasure.

She takes more of me into her mouth, sucking the liquid into her mouth as I writhe in ecstasy beneath her.

She guides me higher and higher, exploring me in a way no one ever has. I don't quite know what I say, but I'm pretty sure some of it has her almost laughing. When I explode around her, I probably wake half the neighbourhood before I turn to jelly in her arms.

She climbs back up the bed, holding me, stroking my hair, until I recover enough to kiss her senseless in reciprocation.

BREAK

I lose count, but we don't stop until we're so tired we can hardly keep our eyes open, and even then, it's as if our need to be close will never be sated. We lie pressed together, naked beneath the sheets, whispering, kissing, cuddling, until sleep forcibly claims us.


	15. Chapter 15

"Mmmmnnnnggggh."

Regina grins at me as she gets out of bed. I watch her, bleary eyed, and then I register that she's _naked_.

I sit up immediately.

"You're not wearing anything!" I exclaim.

She looks pointedly at my now-exposed chest.

"Neither are you. You've found your words, though."

I make a face. "It's early."

"Shower?"

My jaw drops. I'm not proud of it.

"You mean, with you?" I stammer.

She laughs. "Yes, but _just_ a shower."

"I'm not sure if that's adorable or cruel."

"It's necessary. We already slept in, we have to leave in half an hour."

I waggle my eyebrows. "That's plenty of time."

She rolls her eyes. I had no idea being scornful could be so gorgeous.

"Are you coming or not?" she asks, leaning on the bathroom door.

"Not, apparently," I say grumpily as I follow her into the bathroom.

It's actually… sweet. She washes my hair, she massages any tension out of my neck and shoulders, and it's not that I don't want more, it's just that… This is nice. And her eyes promise me that there _will_ be more later.

My stomach rumbles loudly as we get dressed. Regina tosses an apple at me as we pass the kitchen and go out to her car. She straps Henry's seat in the back in record time, then floors it to the hospital. It's gearing up to be a blisteringly hot day. I grin. My plan will work out perfectly.

Henry is dressed and ready and practically bouncing up and down as Dr. Robbins signs him over to us. She seems happy to see me again, and assures us that Henry's stats are great. She gives us instructions about meds and arranges an outpatient appointment for Monday morning.

"I'm just finishing the graveyard shift," she explains.

Henry makes ghost noises.

"Aw, Henry, you make such a cute ghost," I tell him.

"I'm gonna come back as a ghost when I die," he says happily. "I'm going to haunt you and Momma."

I grab him, tickling. "Not if I haunt you first," I say pointedly. He giggles.

I consider his statement in more depth while he chatters to his mother in the car. He sees me as a fixture, as more of a fixture than he sees himself. I decide not to focus on his apparent belief that I will outlive him. I think about "you and Momma". Because he didn't say it like we were separate entities. He said it like we were a couple, like we would be _together_. Forever.

A forever family.

"Emma!"

"Sorry, Henry. I was thinking. What's up?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"Families."

"Our family?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Momma?" he demands. She catches his eye in the mirror.

"Momma, is Emma our family now?"

Regina looks at me. Her smile's part apology, part elated.

"Do you want her to be?" she asks her son.

"Do _you_ want her to be?" he asks back.

"I asked you first."

"Yeah, but… If she's gonna keep you company while I'm not there, your 'pinion's more important."

"Well… My opinion is that I like Emma very much, and if you are agreeable, I would love to ask her to be a part of our family."

She pulls up at the house. Henry seems to be thinking.

"Would she live with us?" he asks.

"It's, uhm, a bit soon-" Regina starts, but he interrupts.

"If she's in our family, she should live with us."

"Your Daddy is your family and he doesn't live with us," Regina points out.

"He's not my _real_ family," Henry says. He's inherited his mother's scorn.

Regina looks equal parts proud and guilty. She gets out of the car and opens Henry's door; he wriggles to the ground, grabs Jet, and scampers up to the porch. He sits on the edge, swinging his legs, and the sun's on his cheeks and I can't resist. I take out my phone.

"Go sit with him," I tell Regina. She sees my plan.

"You should. I have hundreds of pictures of him and me already."

She takes my phone and brooks no refusal. I go and sit with the kid, copying his pose, and to my delight, he shuffles closer to me and ducks under my arm.

"Okay, breakfast!" Henry declares after a few moments, jumping up and grabbing my hand, tugging me towards the house. Regina catches us up gives my phone back, then opens the door.

I examine the pictures. She's taken five, four of us sitting and one of the kid dragging me. She has also texted all of them to herself. I look at the pictures for a while. It's weird to see myself with a kid. I've never seen myself as parent material. Working with kids, yeah, but a kid of my own? And yet… There he is, tucked under my arm, for all the world as if he belongs there.

He's in the kitchen now, sitting on the island, "helping" as Regina makes waffle batter. I look around for something to do. I set up the coffee maker.

"What do you drink, Henry?" I ask him.

"Apple juice!"

"Water."

I chuckle at the simultaneous answers.

"How about an inch of apple juice topped up with water?" I compromise.

"Is that nice?" Henry asks dubiously.

"Oh, yeah. It's great for if you can't, uhm, if you don't have much juice," I say, deciding the poverty of my childhood is a can of worms that he really doesn't need to see yet.

I make the drink for him. He sips it, then smiles with approval.

"It tastes wet," he tells me.

"I guess it would," I reply. Regina's frying bacon. I love- I love bacon.

"So, are you going to live with us?" Henry asks.

"I actually have to live at school," I tell him. "But I mean, maybe one day? If you still want me."

I'm pretty sure he rolls his eyes. " _Of course_ we will," he says.

And before I know what I'm doing he's wrapped up in my arms and tears are streaming down my cheeks and I've never been so happy in my entire fucking life and no one's even kissing me. I'm just holding a kid, a puny, pukey kid whose mother's arms are around both of us, holding everything together.

"What's the matter?" Henry asks, worried.

I pull back, smiling. "Nothing. I'm crying because I'm happy."

"That's silly," he informs me.

"Just a little," Regina whispers in my ear. "But it's also very cute. And I second my very wise son. We'll always want you."

"Sorry," I say as fresh tears fall. She hands me a tissue.

"Why?"

I'm surprised by the question. "Because I'm crying."

"Crying isn't something you need to apologise for."

"You need some bacon," Henry chips in. I mop up my tears as Regina opens the beeping waffle maker.

A huge and fabulous breakfast later, I finish the last of the dishes as Regina and Henry read at the table. Their concentrating faces are enchanting. I lean against the counter and listen to the end of the story. It's Hansel and Gretel.

"I think she should have eaten them," Henry announces. "Or maybe their Daddy. Yeah, she should've eaten their Daddy."

Regina raises her eyebrows. "Why's that, dear?"

"They were eating her _house_. You can't just eat people's houses."

I grin at his logic. "But they're just kids," I point out.

"That's why she should eat the Daddy. He leads them out into the forest without any food, so it's his fault. He should look after them."

"He does in the end."

"He shouldn't any more. He gave them up. They beat a witch, they don't need a silly Daddy like that."

"Not all Daddies are bad," I say.

"Is yours nice?" Henry asks. I realise, too late, that I don't know of many examples to back up my statement.

"I don't know. I grew up in the foster system, lots of different people looked after me."

"Why?"

Regina nudges Henry, telling him to stop, but I smile.

"I don't mind. I don't really know why, though, kid. My parents gave me to the system when I was a baby. I've never even met them."

"That's weird. Why would someone give away a baby? Everyone likes babies. Especially the not-sick ones."

"Babies are hard work. But that's not really an answer for you, kid."

I'm way out of my depth. I look at Regina for help. She gives Henry's hand a squeeze.

"Remember when we talked about not all families being the same?" she asks him. He nods thoughtfully.

"Well, our family's like this. Your Daddy has to be far away so you can see all the doctors here. And he has more, new family because he was lonely without you. He isn't the bravest Daddy around, but he loves you, and he visits whenever he can. And meanwhile, we live by the beach, in the sun, with all our friends. It's pretty good, don't you think?"

"Even better now we have an Emma too," he says. "All the best families have an Emma."

"You're a genius," I mouth to Regina. Then I wink at Henry.

"Are you ready?"

"For what?"

"The car," I whisper theatrically.

"OH! Yes!" he laughs.

"Bathing suit. Sunscreen. Goggles," I command. "Regina, go find yourself some magazines or nail polish or something. Your wardrobe is up to you, but a bathing suit would show solidarity and family spirit."

She rolls her eyes and takes Henry upstairs to get changed. I go round back and haul a sun lounger out to the front yard, then find a blanket and pillow to put on it. I make a virgin mimosa (ice and orange juice in a champagne glass) and put it on an upturned crate beside the lounger, then dash upstairs to change.

Henry's shorts are red. He has a big blue waterproof plaster on his chest, a red bandana, and blue goggles. He's slathered in sunscreen but he won't let Regina finish rubbing it in, and Jet has been reluctantly relinquished to Regina (because dragons, being creatures of fire, don't like getting wet when they can avoid it).

Regina's black silk kimono matches her black bikini, and my expression matches hers when she sees me. My bikini is red and revealing and at least half of the reason why I ever suggested the car wash thing.

"Direct me to your soap and buckets," I say dramatically, simultaneously fielding a slippery Henry as he attempts to climb on my back.

"Fly, dragon, fly!" he commands. Regina laughs shamelessly. She could almost be younger than me when she laughs like that.

I gather all the car washing equipment and send Regina outside to get comfortable. Henry scurries between us with progress updates. He's already pretty tired when I'm ready to start washing, but what he lacks in energy, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.

"Emma!" he screeches as he picks up a sponge. "What do I do?"

I pause for a moment, then lead him about six feet away from the car. "Throw your sponge at the dirtiest bit you can see."

He cackles. His plan is obvious; he's not even pretending to aim at the car. He launches the soggy sponge at me with impressive force and it glances off my stomach before splatting on the drive. Henry seems delighted with this result. His mother, too. I give them both evil glares, then get to work washing the car.

After a moment, Henry picks up the fallen sponge and starts to help me. He sidles closer, looking sheepish.

"You're not _really_ cross, are you?"

I give him by best miserable face.

"Well, you did throw a sponge at me. _And_ call me dirty."

"You're wearing your swimsuit, though," he weedles. "And you know I didn't mean it. You're not that dirty." He giggles. "Especially now I've cleaned you."

I make a face. "I suppose if you're sorry-"

"Sorry sorry sorry!" he cries immediately, hurling himself at my legs in what I assume is a hug.

When he pulls away, I smile wickedly at him.

"Your Mom was mean too, though. She was laughing."

Henry's smile mirrors mine. He beckons me down to his level.

"Let's get her," he says, dunking his sponge in the bucket.

I gesture at Regina above his head to come talk to us, minimising the risk of damage to her book or the pillow. She walks over, narrowing her eyes curiously. I wink at Henry. Regina reaches us and I lift him up; he throws the sponge and it hits her squarely in the chest. It's much wetter than the one he threw at me and the effect is spectacular.

Regina closes her eyes, wrinkles up her nose, then,

"HENRY DANIEL MILLS?"

Henry shrinks back into me.

"Yes, Momma?" he whispers.

She grins, her feigned anger evaporating. "Nice shot, dear."

I can't hold back my laughter any longer. She always looks so perfect, but as a dripping mess, she's fantastic.

"Oh, don't think you're getting away with this," she says, smirking. "Henry is five. And incredibly cute."

I pout. "I'm cute."

Regina flicks some soap off her cheek. "Not cute enough," she says, leaning down, the picture of elegance, and grabbing a sponge from the bucket. Before I can so much as duck, it hits me in the face, covering Henry in splashes. Regina brushes her hands together. I set Henry down.

"Run for cover, kid," I advise. Regina looks nervous. As she should be. I pick up one of the buckets.

"You wouldn't dare," she says, but I can tell she's not sure.

"Throw it, throw it!" Henry calls.

"I raise you for five years and this is the thanks I get?" Regina demands. Henry just laughs.

"Oh, shi-"

I don't know what else she says because it's covered by the bucket of water that I pour over her head, and then it turns into a kind of scream, and then into,

"I am going to get you, Emma Swan."

I run, dashing around the yard to Henry's great amusement, giggling uncontrollably.

"You may be laughing now, Miss Swan, but I will destroy your happiness if it is the last thing I do!"

BREAK

She doesn't. She does throw the other bucket of water over me, but only because I let her. Then she dries off on the lounger, I wash the car, Henry bounces around between us (eventually conceding to half-nap on his mother's lap) and then we collapse on a blanket in the middle of the yard with fruit and crackers and 80s music that we all sing along to with varying interpretations of the lyrics.

I lie on the blanket, Henry's feet on my stomach, Regina's fingers curled around mine, the sun warming my skin, and I'm comfortable and full of food and my hair's clean and there's not a single bruise on my body and _I'm not alone._

I'm not alone.

These people, they're not just people. They're not separate. They're _my_ people, I care about them, they matter to me, and… I matter to them.

They're my family.


	16. Chapter 16

I wash the dishes with speed and precision. Even Regina, cleanliness perfectionist, is impressed. She's been putting Henry to bed, in his own bed, and now she has a huge smile on her tanned face. She picks up a towel to dry things before putting them away, and we complete the task in companionable silence.

I dry off my hands on my shirt. She chuckles.

"I would have given you the towel in a few seconds."

I blush, just a little. She strokes my cheek.

"You have freckles," she says.

"They come out when I've been in the sun." I wrinkle up my nose, self conscious. I know I have an attractive body, I know that people like to look at it, but it'll be a long time before I truly enjoy being drawn attention to.

"They're cute." She can see my discomfort, though she's uncertain of the cause.

"They make me look young." I say this as if it's a rebuttal, even though young and cute are hardly mutually exclusive.

"You _are_ young," she replies, stating the obvious, waiting for me to say more.

The truth slips out before I can stop it. "Not on the inside."

She brushes her lips against mine, a whisper of touch and apology as she breathes, "I'm sorry."

I open my eyes, wide, staring into hers. "Why? You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry that you didn't get the childhood you deserved."

"Does anyone?" I say pointedly, thinking of her, and even Henry.

"I had… I had everything. Everything that could be paid for."

I hum the Beatles song. _Can't buy me love_... She rolls her eyes, but nods.

"The thing is, Emma," she says, looking at the floor, at the ceiling, out of the window, anywhere but me, "you… You make me feel… That game we played in the hospital. Throwing wet sponges. Dancing in the rain… It's what I always dreamed it would be like. Except so much better. And so much worse."

"Worse?" I ask in a small voice.

"I…" She smiles ruefully. "You still have to make up that credit."

I could take off my shirt, I could kiss her, I could smile salaciously and suggest she let me make it up in a way that'll make her moan. But then I look at her face, so smart and human and loving, and I know that neither of us want that. We want each other, but we don't want games. It's never been a game, not even at the beginning when we teased each other in her class.

"I actually have an idea," I admit. She waits for me to tell her what it is, but I don't. I'm afraid she'll think it's silly, or even presumptuous.

Regina gives herself a visible shake.

"We probably won't do anything much tomorrow. Henry and me, that is. I don't want to tire him out too much. I can give you a lift home in the morning if you like, it's going to be very boring here."

I wonder if she sees my face fall. I tell myself over and over, it's not that they don't want me around, it's just that the kid's sick, it's just that they're tired, it's not that they don't like me-

There's a hand gripping mine.

"I'm an idiot," Regina says.

"What?"

"I, we, would love for you to stay. I just thought it might be a bit dull, especially since we spent most of the afternoon doing nothing, too."

"You really want me to stay?" I ask quietly.

Her fingers play with mine. "With all my heart," she says softly.

I let out the tension that's been coiling in my lungs in a long breath. "I want to stay, too."

We sit on the couch, drinking tea. We decided against a movie, and I've been waiting for a lull in the conversation to be my blunt, daring self, and suggest a game I know Regina won't like. From the way her eyebrow raises incredulously before I even explain it, I can tell this is not going to go down well.

"So, it's a version of truth or dare, except my two favorite elements of the game, the dares and the alcohol, aren't possible because of the sleeping kid upstairs. I thought, instead, we could have five passes. And the first one to run out of passes loses."

Regina puts on her thinking face. I'm pretty sure she's just working out an elaborate way of saying "hell no" but to my surprise, she grins wickedly.

"The loser should have a forfeit of some kind."

"Well, yeah, but Henry's here…" I trail off. All my good dares are too raucous or dangerous to be performed while responsible for a sleeping minor.

"How about…" she whispers in my ear. I gasp, my cheeks reddening.

"Really?"

She has the decency to look a little embarrassed by her suggestion, but she's still grinning.

"My, you really are young. What do you think?"

I consider the odds.

"I guess I'll just have to win, then," I say, finding a smirk of my own. I hope I've made the right call. I feel as if Regina's ready to talk, but it's too awkward. I want to add an element of fun to it, to make it a little lighter. I don't want to make light of her demons, exactly, but maybe by lightening the mood that they're shared in, they'll be easier to handle. Like the boggart in Harry Potter. I explain this to her in a rather haphazard way. She laughs.

"Okay, boggart girl. I'll ask first. When did you read the Harry Potter books?"

"Why?"

"Don't question the questions, answer them!"

I roll my eyes, leaning back into the couch. "One of my foster homes had the full set, I think there were five at this point, and I started to read them. I moved before I got through all five, but after I got my glasses, I read all the time, whatever I could, and I had ways of getting books. I stole the last one out of a kid's locker in school, I was so desperate to read it, I couldn't wait for the library. I gave it back!" I add when I see her critical expression.

"I hope Henry reads them. I read them too, I was older, but I always identified with them."

"How come? That's not your question, though."

She chuckles. "Because Harry overcomes a crappy family to make one of his own, among friends. And because they say that anyone can be a hero, even if they're a bit scrawny and awkward."

"You don't have to worry about that," I say. Regina smiles.

"Thank you, dear. I'm glad you think so."

"Right. Your turn for a question." I muse over my options, deciding not to be too brutal to start with. "Best childhood memory?"

We each have a stack of five quarters, and there's a cup between us to toss them into. She bites her lip, then reaches for her stack.

"Oh, come on, that was supposed to be a nice question. Why waste your skip?"

She doesn't speak, but she leans back, picking at her nails. I hear her take several deep breaths.

"Riding with my father," she says carefully. "I had very little free time as a child, I had a lot to learn, there were many accomplishments I had to acquire. But riding was my father's hobby, and he persuaded my mother, on occasion, that it was an acceptable pursuit for me, too."

"Why didn't you want to tell me that?"

She picks up a quarter, fiddling with it. "I'm not altogether sure… I suppose… I treasure them so much. I have so few good memories, I fear that voicing them might sully them somehow. You must have made assumptions about my parents; I'm sure you're already confused as to why I took such pleasure in my father's company, when he failed to give me a happy childhood."

I have to admit, the thought has crossed my mind, but I assure her I'm not judging. "I know your story's complicated, Regina. I think… Even when you talked about your mother, it didn't sound like you didn't love her."

"Perhaps. But perhaps loving my mother is my greatest weakness of all."

"How do you mean?"

"I believe it is my turn to ask you a question, Miss Swan." She's stiffening up, and I don't push her further. It's hard, trying to piece together her background from the little she's shared so far, but despite the lack of information, I feel as if I know her completely. There's more for me to understand, but I don't _need_ it. I brace myself for the question. If we were easy on each other, none of this would work. And I know she wants my quarters. She definitely wants to win.

"How many different foster homes have you lived in?"

"Eight," I say quickly, like ripping off a band aid. "But I've also lived in five different group homes."

"Were any of them-"

"It's my turn," I cut her off. She pouts. I stick my tongue out.

"I want to know about Henry's dad," I admit.

"That's not a question."

"I know. I'm thinking… Did you love him?"

"No. And no, I will not elaborate. If you wanted a longer answer you should have asked a better question. It seems this game allows for education, too."

I make a face. "You're such a teacher sometimes. I can't believe this wasn't always your job."

"If I'd had more control, it might have been. I think I would have liked to teach younger children, maybe even kindergarten. But I couldn't, with Henry. I need the more flexible schedule I get at the university. And the money."

"But your family's rich, right?"

"It's not your turn," she says, teasingly whiny. "But yes. When my father passed, he left me some money, but it's Henry's college fund. As for their estate, my mother is the sole owner now, and I am most definitely cut out of it."

"And she really wouldn't help you? Not even Henry?"

"If I asked, or begged perhaps, she probably would. But I will not do that. Having her in our lives is far too high a price to pay for financial support. We are far from desperate, and I have things like my car, clothes, jewellery, that were paid for before she cut me off."

"What did she do? I mean, I know she arranged your whole life, your marriage… But when you were a kid-"

"I understand your curiosity, Emma, but I… It's your turn."

I'm seriously lamenting the lack of alcohol. Especially since it's my turn. But I'm incredibly impressed by her bravery, by how much she's told me. We're still sitting on her couch; I look around the living room. She has horse sculptures on the mantelpiece, I've noticed them before but they mean more, now. I imagine them coming to life and leaping around the room.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"That's not very inventive."

"Stop avoiding."

"Two things. One… I'm grateful, I'm so glad you're talking to me, I'm glad the game worked, sort of, and I think you're so, so brave. I want to know more but I don't want to force it out of you, you know? I just think that you need, like… I get the feeling you'd never say anything, that you'd be perfectly content, well sort of, to never share your feelings, to just help me, to stay strong, to bury all your hurt. You know it's not healthy, but you'd do it anyway, I think."

She picks at her nails some more. She takes a breath as if to speak, but then lets it out again, and when she does speak, I know she doesn't say what she'd been going to.

"What's the second thing?"

"Huh?" I'm taken by surprise, I know she's been thinking about something else.

"You said you were thinking two things. You told me one. What's the second thing?"

I feel my cheeks colour, but I try to be brazen about it. "I was thinking about the horse sculptures you have up there and imagining them coming to life and leaping around."

She's laughing; I smile. We both need it.

"Best sex you've ever had?" I say, my eyes glinting as they meet with dark chocolate desire in hers.

"A much appreciated topic change, Miss Swan," she says, tossing a quarter into the cup.

"Now I know it's me," I point out, grinning.

"Maybe I was just sparing your feelings."

"Were you?"

"Not your turn. What do you want most, right now?"

She's staring at me. The truth soars through my mind, open and honest and beautiful. I throw a quarter into the cup. She's surprised.

"Why can't you tell me?"

I ignore the question. "Now it's my turn. Am I a good kisser?"

"No." My bottom lip falls into a pout; I try not to be ashamed. "You're a great kisser."

From the way that she laughs, I must have lit up as much on the outside as I did on the inside.

"What is your favourite thing that I do to you?"

I think about her holding me, stroking my hair, letting me fall asleep in her arms, making me feel wanted. But she wants it to be sex, and I throw away a quarter before she can stop me.

"My, my, Emma. Where is your bravado now?"

"Will you really tie me up if you win?" I blurt out.

"Yes. But only if you want me to."

I know she can tell, even by the look on my face, that I definitely do.

"Why didn't you answer my last two questions?"

I hover over a third quarter, but she knows she's got me and I'm not ready to lose, yet.

"I didn't want to say something you didn't want to hear."

She pauses to consider this.

"How could you be sure I didn't want to hear it?"

I shrug, feeling small. I'm usually wrong. Maybe I'm wrong now, too. She bops me on the nose, like we would with Henry.

"Hey. You're playing by the rules. Go on. I know you know how to beat me."

I don't know why, exactly, but the word catches in my mind, and I can't stop myself. "Did she ever… Did she?"

We both know who I mean. The teasing mood disappears; the room is suddenly cold, and there's a clink as a fourth quarter falls into the cup. Her hand finds my hair; she plays with it, knowing it sooths us both.

"Do you hate her for it?" she asks quietly. "Do you think I should hate her?"

"I don't know how I feel, I don't know enough… But I don't think you _should_ feel anything. I think you feel what you feel, whatever that is, and whatever it is, it's valid."

"You are very wise sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" I protest. She chuckles, moving a little closer. I have to play with her again. It's weird, jumping back and forth, but it keeps us from dwelling. And the way her hand is moving at the back of my neck…

"Did you ever get off thinking about me when I was still just your student?"

Her cheeks go beet red and a quarter hits the cup. I punch the air with glee.

"Did _you_?"

"I sure did, Professor Mills." I try not to cackle as I contemplate my next question. "Ooh! What's the most embarrassing thing Henry's ever done?"

I'm delighted when another quarter lands in the cup.

"Now I have to know that story," I say. She makes a face that's somewhere between disgust and amusement.

"Maybe one day I'll tell you, or he will, but it would destroy the mood if we got into it now."

"You only have one quarter left."

She picks it up. "I know. Your question. Do you want to win, or lose?"

I picture both scenarios; I have been since she suggested the stakes. I think of her beneath me, of being completely in control, and I breathe in sharply.

"I want to try both," I mumble. "But… I want to win."

She takes my hand with hers, the one that isn't in my hair. "You don't have to be ashamed of that. I had a feeling you would. And I think… I think it might be good for both of us. Good for me to relinquish control, and good for you to have it."

The way she's looking at me… A question grows in my mind and suddenly my need for the answer is so desperate I can't hold it back. I can't do anything, I can hardly look at her, I just have to know. It's awkward and childish and incredibly unromantic and I hate myself for doing it like this but-

"Do you love me?"

It's as if the world goes into slow motion; her hands leave my body and she leans over to the coffee table to pick up her final quarter and drop it into the cup. I feel tears well up in my eyes and they fall before I can stop them. I'm mortified. I had it wrong all along, that was never what this was about, I've ruined everything by wanting more than she can give.

But she's not kicking me out of the house. She's not even leaving the room. Her hands are on my cheeks, wiping away my tears, and then she's holding my face and looking right into my eyes.

"I love you, Emma Swan. I just didn't want to tell you during some juvenile truth challenge."

"Oh," I whisper. And that's all. _Say it back, you idiot. Say it back. You're the one that brought it up, look at her, she's waiting for you-_ Only she isn't. She's smiling, so wide, and then she's kissing me, kissing me with everything she has.

"Thank you," she breathes when we break apart for air.

"What for?"

"For letting me," she murmurs. "For letting me love you in a way that doesn't hurt."

BREAK

She's nervous. I can feel it. There's no teasing, no playing, just us, sitting naked on her bed, playing with two black silk scarves and trying to pretend we aren't both incredibly aroused.

"You have to tell me, right away, if you don't like it," I insist.

"I will," she promises. Then she grins and puts the scarves in my hands. "Now take control. Tell me what to do."

"But I don't know," I protest. It's a lie and we both know it. She kisses me softly on the cheek, then lies down on the bed.

I feel like I've been given the biggest, best gift in the entire world, but I have no idea what to do with it.

"When I am in your position," she says, low and sultry, "I tie their wrists, one to each bedpost, not too tight, but tight enough that they can't reach to touch me. Or themselves. I command them, to beg me, to worship me, or perhaps to be completely silent. I use their body, I see it as mine. They have given it willingly, so I _take_."

My hands are shaking with excitement as I tie her as suggested. I kiss her then, sweetly, to show her she can trust me. She pulls against the restraints, testing them. And then I know what I want, what I want first, at least. I couldn't tell her I loved her, but I can do this.

I kiss her everywhere, all over her face, her jaw, her neck.

"This is supposed to be for you," she says, a chuckle in her voice.

"I know. This is what I want. Now shut up and enjoy it. I mean, don't shut up if you're not enjoying it. But if you're enjoying it, stop thinking about me. Because I'm the boss."

"Right you are," she breathes as I kiss the sensitive spot at the base of her neck.

Worship is a good word. I worship her body, laid out for me, so open and trusting. I explore every inch of her, I find every spot that makes her squirm. I bring her to a slow, delicious climax, kissing her passionately as she arches off the bed. She mumbles something into my mouth; I push up on my arms, suspending myself over her.

"Yes?" I ask, attempting her perfected eyebrow quirk.

"You always surprise me," she says. "But in a way… You're not surprising at all. That was very you."

"Is what I want next also very me? And, uhm, you can say no, we can just do it the other way, but I saw it once-"

"Emma, spit it out."

"I want to, uhm…" I shuffle forward a bit by way of weird and ineffectual demonstration. She smirks at me, but it's a kind smirk.

"Sorry," she says suddenly.

"Huh? Why?"

"I just told you what to do. You're supposed to be telling me."

"It was reasonable, I shouldn't be so awkward, it's not like…" I trail off, feeling even more awkward than I did a few seconds ago. She catches my eye.

"You will just have to decide how much you want it. If you want it enough, you'll do it."

"You know!" I exclaim. She's a mindreader.

She laughs. "I have made an educated guess."

"Can I? I mean, would you…"

"I would enjoy it very much."

I grin, but then I get worried again. "But what if you're not thinking of the same thing? What if I'm perverted and weird and you're thinking of something different?"

I can see her trying not to burst out laughing. "I'd suggest we both get a piece of paper and write down what we're thinking of, then exchange them and read them simultaneously, but I'm a little tied up right now." Her expression softens. "Emma, I would give you anything. Whatever you want. I'll tell you if I'm not enjoying something, I won't let you hurt me or even make me uncomfortable, but I trust you, and I want to please you. I want you to feel safe to try whatever you desire, and before that, I want you to feel safe to tell me. Earlier, you didn't tell me what you favourite thing I do is. I still don't know… Are you embarrassed?"

I shake my head. "Not really, I just…" I lean down to kiss her while I think. "I'm worried you won't like the answer."

"Maybe telling me would be a start?"

"I guess, but it's not really related."

"How do you mean?"

I rest on the bed, then get up again and untie her wrists. "So your arms don't get sore," I explain. She strokes my shoulder affectionately.

"And I mean, my favourite thing that you do to me isn't a sex thing, even though I know you thought you were asking a sex question."

She rolls onto her side, _looking_ at me. I sigh, then squeeze my eyes shut and blurt out the confession as fast as I can.

"I like it when you hold me and stroke my hair and cuddle me until I fall asleep."

"That's… adorable."

"It's silly."

"It's amazing. And yet another reason to love you."

I open my eyes. "Are there really lots?"

"Don't fish for compliments," she teases gently.

"I'm not, I just… I don't think I'm easy to love at all."

"I can't speak for the rest of the world, but for me, loving you is… It's like breathing. It's how I live, it's natural, it's automatic. We both know it can be hard, even painful, but even when it hurts, when my chest is screaming, when my lungs burn, it's an unstoppable impulse. I couldn't not breathe, even if I wanted to. Just as I couldn't not love you."

"I…" I trail off, then slam my face into a pillow. She rubs my back.

"When you're ready. I don't mind."

"How can you be so patient?"

"Because I trust you."

I like it when our kisses start slow. It makes me feel like we'll last forever, like we don't have to hurry because we have the rest of our lives. Maybe that's a fantasy, but I enjoy it regardless.

"Now," she says the next time I have to catch my breath, teasing my breast and nipple with playful fingertips. "Will you tell me?"

I bite my lip.

"How about you whisper it? Then at least you can be sure that only I will know your sins."

She holds me close and I give her the answer through gritted teeth. She doesn't hold back her laughter this time, but it's loud and lustful and sends tingles through my abdomen. She kisses me, smiling, then leans back, pulling me with her, above her, helping me get where I need to be. I still hesitate, though.

"Do you want me to beg for it?"

I giggle, shaking my head.

"Are you sure? You seem like you do."

More giggles. She runs her hands up and down my thighs.

"Emma, darling, _please_ will you get up here and ride my face?"

It's so dirty, so vulgar, so bizarrely erotic, that I partly get on with it just to shut her up.


	17. Chapter 17

_"Do you want me to beg for it?"_

_I giggle, shaking my head._

_"Are you sure? You seem like you do."_

_More giggles. She runs her hands up and down my thighs._

_"Emma, darling, please will you get up here and ride my face?"_

_It's so dirty, so vulgar, so bizarrely erotic, that I partly get on with it just to shut her up._

She tucks her arms behind my knees, stroking up my ass and lower back with her now-freed hands. I look down at her and her smile's so wide. She wants this, she's not just humouring me, and I get this rush of power as I lower myself onto her grinning mouth. She wastes no time in sweeping her tongue along the length of my folds, collecting the juices there and humming with pleasure at the taste.

I jerk my hips; she steadies me with her hands as she explores me with her lips and tongue. She's slow, careful, circling my clit but not quite touching it, and then brushing it with only the lightest of pressure. I grip the headboard, bowing my head to look down at her. Her eyes meet mine and the twinkle in them makes me gasp.

"Fuck!" I try to be quiet, Henry's sleeping nearby, but there's only so much control I can exercise.

Looking down my body, sweaty and alive with lust, to see her face, _there_ , is almost enough to drive me over the edge, but she keeps me hovering, alternating sucks and licks and even the occasional graze of her teeth. I don't know how long she builds it, it could be anything between a millisecond and eternity, far too much but never quite enough, the most delicious kind of torture imaginable.

Her tongue slides inside me; I whimper at the intensified sensation. Her fingers are still massaging my lower back and ass, but she brings a hand around underneath me and her tongue is replaced by three strong fingers curling in just the right way. I move against her, desperate for more friction, and finally she focuses her tongue on my swollen bundle of nerves.

She's still light with her tongue, coiling me even tighter, and I can feel warm, sticky liquid on my thighs, on her cheeks. She makes a sound, a hypnotically happy one, and I echo it with a moan and then she's sucking on my clit with all the force I've been aching for and I climax above her, shoving a fist into my mouth to muffle an involuntary scream.

I roll of her so I don't smother her with my dead weight, then flop against the headboard and take a long, deep breath. I glance over her; she hasn't moved. She's lazily licking her slick fingers while her other hand creeps between her own legs. I chuckle, still high on power, and reach over to swat her hand away, replacing it with my own.

My body's like jelly but it turns out lying on top of her has its benefits. I can feel her whole body pressed against mine; I kiss her deeply, tasting myself on her lips, and she's _mine_. It's a strange feeling, one I don't even attempt to voice, but as I kiss her, I feel as if there's a kind of responsibility to it. She loves me. She'd give me anything. She just surrendered herself to me, completely. She trusts me. I realise in that moment that having a family isn't just about me feeling safe and accepted - it's about me making my family feel that way.

She comes with only a few touches and we settle into more relaxed kisses. I snuggle into her arms, breathing in the mingled scents of sex and sweat and freshly laundered sheets (which her bed always smells like, even when you eat burgers in it). Her hair smells too, like spicy fruit, and her fingers are soft and kind and loving. She trails them through my hair and I purr contentedly. Well, almost contentedly. I have something I need to say.

"Regina?"

She holds me closer.

"Yes?" she murmurs. She sounds sleepy. We should probably shower, but I don't particularly want to be the one to suggest we leave the bed.

"I love you."

It falls out of my mouth so easily, the words float off my tongue as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is.

She presses a kiss to my lips, her eyes wet and shiny with tears.

"Good," she says firmly.

I close my eyes.

"I can't decide if I want to stop time or see the future," I tell her.

"Maybe just live in the present," she suggests.

"We need to shower."

"Practical. I like it."

I open my eyes suddenly, another request almost escaping before I clamp my mouth shut over it. She waits, quirking her eyebrow.

"I, uh, would you wash and braid my hair?" I whisper.

"It would be my pleasure," she says, rolling off the bed with a groan. She rolls her shoulders and stretches her legs. I bounce down beside her. She rolls her eyes at me.

"Stop showing off."

I pull her up, into a hug, then, just because I can, I pick her up and carry her, bridal style, into the bathroom.

BREAK

"EMMA! YOU'RE STILL HERE!"

I'm suddenly incredibly glad Regina insisted on pyjamas before we fell asleep. I was still in her arms, but now Henry's wedged himself between us, demanding cuddles. Little pussy blocker. I stroke his bald, alien head; he giggles.

"Tickles," he tells me. "I wish I had hair like yours."

I sit up, examining my long blonde braid. "It takes _a lot_ of brushing though."

"Boring," Henry sing-songs.

Regina mumbles something unintelligible and I hoist Henry out of bed. He's feather light; I carry him easily. His lack of hair makes him look younger too; it's hard to remember that he's five.

"Let's go make breakfast, let your Momma sleep in a bit, huh?"

"Momma doesn't sleep in," he tells me as if I'm stupid.

"Well, yeah, usually it's just her to hang out with you. But I'm here this morning so she has an _un_ usual opportunity."

"I guess," he says, sounding a little dubious. "Hey, are these Momma's pyjamas?"

I chuckle. "They sure are."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are _you_ wearing them?"

"I borrowed them."

"Because you and Momma had a sleepover?"

"That's right."

"Are you gonna have more sleepovers?"

I set him on the counter and peer into the fridge for inspiration.

"I hope so," I tell him. He pouts.

"I think you should have sleepovers with _me_."

I pull out a box of strawberries, some yoghurt, and strawberry jelly.

"Maybe that can be arranged. If you're super nice to me."

"What are you making?" he demands.

I find granola, and after a bit of hunting, dessert glasses, the kind you'd make ice cream sundaes in. Then I wash and chop the strawberries.

"Breakfast."

He narrows his eyes at the ingredients.

"That's not pancakes."

I laugh. "Nope. It's... strawberry surprise."

I hand him a spoon and the yoghurt. "Stir that up, then put a spoonful in each glass."

We build up the layers, which Henry finds amusing, even though he declares he hasn't decided if he's going to eat anything. I put on some coffee and fiddle with the radio, and Henry dips his finger in the jelly when he thinks I can't see.

Regina appears just as the coffee is finished, wrapped up in her robe and looking adorably sleepy. I hand her a mug of coffee; she smiles gratefully and rubs noses with Henry, who informs her, loudly, that,

"Emma made really weird breakfast."

Regina examines the dessert glass concoctions and I suddenly worry that they're really tacky, but then she smiles again and passes out spoons and digs into hers, making all the right noises.

"This is almost healthy," she says, laughing as Henry practically buries himself in yoghurt and strawberries. He's still sitting on the counter.

Regina opens the cupboard and extracts a large pill tray. Henry rolls his eyes, but swallows the pills with the water she gives him.

"Does anything hurt?" she asks. He shakes his head. She narrows her eyes.

"Even your chest?"

He shakes his head more vehemently. "I'm fine," he insists. "I can play with Emma all day."

Regina sighs, then puts the pills away. "Okay, but you have to promise to tell me if anything gets sore. It doesn't necessarily mean we'll go to the hospital, I just need to know. I know you want to stay home, but you want to stay well too, right?"

He nods.

"Good boy."

She finishes her food, pours herself more coffee, and snakes an arm around my waist.

"I like having you here," she says.

"You could show me how to do the meds, then you can have a proper lie in sometime," I say, guessing that she only got up when she did because she had to give Henry his pills.

"That's very kind of you. So you're planning on staying over a lot?"

"Apparently I owe Henry a sleepover, too."

Regina chuckles. "Are you jealous of me, Henry?"

"No," he lies. I wonder when I became so precious to them - that's how I feel. Precious. Important.

"You'll get your sleepover, kid," I promise, lifting him down to the floor. "What about today? What do you want to do?"

"Movie day?" he asks, smiling sweetly at his mother. He even bats his eyelashes.

"Okay, you get Emma to help you set everything up while I clean up in here," she suggests.

It's so domestic, looking after the kid, keeping the house tidy, and then snuggling on the couch with Henry's favourite movies. I'm not particularly wowed by his choices, but he relents and allows me to get out my laptop and work on my essay (which I refuse to let Regina see).

"Before you go crazy," she tells me, "I've contacted another faculty member, and they're going to mark it, rather than me. Kathryn's great, she's a fair and accessible marker, and she grades like I do, but I just thought that would be simpler."

I nod. It's a good solution, and it actually makes me more certain of my topic choice. If Regina were to mark it, I'm not sure that she'd be able to be neutral about the subject matter.

Sometime in the afternoon, Henry tugs me away from my essay and over to his toy closet, which is beautifully organised and has Regina all over it. I like noticing their similarities, their common interests, the way Henry's nose wrinkles up when you say something he doesn't like, just like hers does. He selects the train set _and_ the castle set - Regina protests initially, but he reminds her that they go together, and we spend hours turning their living room into an exotic civilisation with everything from dragons to Thomas the Train.

It's fascinating to watch Regina play. It's strange that it's this that makes me feel as if I truly know her. I've watched her come and done, repeatedly, I've seen her at her most vulnerable, I've seen her in her element (teaching) and I've even seen her with the kid before, but there's something about watching her put on a silly voice and chase a steam train with a dragon that opens up her soul.

Henry tires out but he's already programmed to help clear his toys away, and then we go to the kitchen to prepare a meal. I'm not even in awe of the domesticity any more. I'm so included, it's almost impossible to be surprised. I make sense, here. We eat (a kind of vegetable pasta bake I sort of want to marry) and Regina takes Henry upstairs to give him a bath and put him to bed while I do the dishes. He's whacked, and I'm not even done when she comes back down. She wraps her arms around my waist (warning me out loud first) and I lean into her embrace and close my eyes and listen to time's relentless movement.

"Hello," she says.

I kiss her almost languidly, as if we have time, as if we have forever. Perhaps it's because I know we should, but I don't really think it through that much. She pulls my wet hands out of the washing up bowl and they settle on her waist, soapy water soaking through her shirt. She has air conditioning but it's turned down for the night and the kitchen is sticky and warm.

I can hear the Russian waltz, the same one we danced to in the rain, pushing and pulling me in a slow, extravagant dance. Regina drags my shirt off almost lazily, tugging her fingers through my hair and kissing me with the certainty that I'm not going anywhere. I feel her strength more acutely with each day I know her - today I know her as a mother, that fascinating breed of superwoman that's impossibly common, yet for me, until now, impossible to find. It's not that she's _my_ mother, it's just that she is one, she cares for me, and she proves that somehow, there's good in the world, even for me.

"I love you."

She doesn't say it until she's three fingers and knuckle deep inside my mostly-naked body, and if you go by her self-satisfied smirk as I scream out her name, the wait was entirely intentional.

"Good," I shudder as I prop myself up on the counter. She hands me the glass of water she's been sipping, then allows me to escort her upstairs.

I dream that I'm sitting on a clifftop watching the sun shine over a turquoise sea. My legs are dangling over the side and there are hands on my shoulders, holding me, loving me, but I never turn around. When I wake up, I've moved out of Regina's arms, but I'm still in her bed and no one has a black eye, so it's definitely progress. I check the time. I'm going to have to go, I have work and I have to shower…

I use hers. I know she won't mind. She stirs when I get up, and again when I come in. I kiss her forehead.

"I'll call you later," I breathe.

She has to take Henry to see his doctor today, I remember. I feel guilty that I'm not going with them. I can't decide if the feeling is ultimately good or bad. M isn't home. She'll be gone for the summer soon. I wish I could leave, too. I've never been that bothered before, but then, I've never had somewhere I'd rather be before, either.

I finish my shift, text Regina to let me know when they're finished at the hospital, then sit down to work on my essay. I actually want to go to the hospital too, but I decide to leave it for tomorrow. I don't want to tie everything up with Henry. He might be my inspiration, but I know the paper can't actually be about _him_. I call some charities instead, and they all seem enthusiastic. I'm surprised by their overwhelmingly positive reception to a simple college essay, but they tell me it's not all that common for people, especially young people, to call them with serious questions.

Regina still hasn't called when I'm done, so I head to the library, even braving the infamous medicine wing. It's busier than the other parts (which are almost deserted since almost everyone's finished for the summer) but in a way that's helpful - I find a friendly looking guy who seems thrilled to help me find a relevant book. We get hold of a couple, and a few journals too, although I can't check them out. He offers to show me how to access them online but I politely decline. I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and I've been flagging for a while. I check out the books I can take and look at my phone. It's only M, though.

Coffee with her doesn't sound too bad, even if it is in the cafeteria, so I meet her (and Belle and Ruby, it turns out) and drink the university's special brand of battery acid while we quiz each other about our love lives. To my delight, neither Ruby nor Belle share her M's qualms (though in M's defence, she preserves the identity of my love interest, at least). Ruby is all for it, giving me a conspiratorial wink regarding the sexual prowess of older lovers, and Belle just wants me to be happy. I go away from the meeting reconsidering her in general. I've always liked her, but she's so smart, so quiet, we've never become close. I make a note to call her and go out sometime. I wonder if Regina's to blame for this, too.

Regina calls me just as I'm walking back to the dorm.

"I'm so sorry!" she begins. "Henry's fine, really good, in fact. Arizona seemed amazed. He was ecstatic when she said he could come back home, so of course we had to go to the beach and there was no phone reception. We're going for dinner now, burgers. His choice of course, he's so like you in some ways, and anyway I mentioned your name and now he formally requests your presence. I'm sure you have better things to do-"

"I don't!" I exclaim.

She laughs. I laugh with her.

"And you don't need to be sorry. I was actually super productive."

"I'm kind of sad I won't be marking it."

"You can still read it. But only after I know the grade, and only if the grade is an A."

She laughs again. "Can I come pick you up? We're only five minutes away."

I go to get changed and pack an overnight bag without really thinking about it. M kindly agrees to throw my laundry in with hers (she _is_ a good friend) and I meet my family - _my family_ \- downstairs.

"You should live with us."

Henry drops this bomb on me as soon as I'm seated in the car. It's not a new bomb, but it's probably _more_ explosive than the first time, because this time, I know that I want to.

"I wish I could, kid," I say honestly, hoping it's jokey enough for Regina to take it either way. I think people often interpret things in the way that they want to, and I don't think this is a bad thing at all. It's far better if people are honest and open about their own desires, rather than trying to guess and read the desires of others. It's not that they shouldn't do things for other people, it's just complicated enough to know what _I_ want… This is probably a terribly selfish thing to think, and I'm at the point of changing my mind when Regina's hand folds over mine.

"Really?" she whispers.

I shrug. "I mean, yeah," I say. "It's not like it's _possible_ , but yeah, in a dream world, of course I'd live with you and Henry."

I can see her thinking, but she doesn't comment any further, just drives to Henry's favourite diner and switches the conversation to something less fantastical.


	18. Chapter 18

I'm sitting in Regina's living room with damp hair and nothing but a towel to preserve my dignity as my favourite baldy gushes apologetically about puking burger and fries into my hair. For all his soft words, he doesn't seem very guilty. And yet, I can't bring myself to hate him, even a little. He's clutching his somehow puke free dragon friend and edging closer and closer to my couch, widening his eyes in a way he _knows_ is irresistibly adorable.

"You're lucky you're cute, kid," I tell him. He smirks. I get the feeling he knows that, too.

"Oh, Emma."

I've heard that phrase a million times but never has it sounded so beautiful. Or so loving. And then I'm dressed in yet more of Regina's clothes, cosy and warm, and she's braiding my hair as Henry yaps on and on about some fairytale he doesn't agree with and we listen intently and decide that (as usual) he's absolutely right.

Henry's flagging halfway into Maleficent and we take him up to bed together; I carry him, Regina sings Spanish lullabies, and we read a fairytale that passes his scrutiny. Regina voices the baddies and I love it. She makes a delectable Evil Queen.

We end up finishing the movie, curled up together so naturally and comfortably that I almost forget who I am, where I came from, what's happened to me in the past. Being with Regina washes all that away and here, in her arms, I'm just Emma, her Emma, and _my_ Emma. Too late, I realise there are tears in my eyes.

Regina glances at the screen, then back at me. Slowly, she wipes my tears away with her finger, then leans in and kisses both my cheeks.

"Thank you for coming, today," she says quietly. The end credits are rolling; I wonder what better thing I could possibly have done and come up totally empty.

"Thank you for inviting me," I reply, managing a small smile. I'm thinking about the conversation in the car, now, the one about moving in (so, the one about utter impossibilities).

"I wish you could live with us," she says, reading my mind.

"But it wouldn't be right," I finish for her. "I still have two more years of being a college student, and I can't possibly spend those two years living with a professor, even one that doesn't teach me any more."

"I could… I could help you rent another place, somewhere nicer than dorms."

"So I could be your kept woman?" I know she doesn't mean it that way but I can't help seeing it. She looks hurt. "Sorry," I say. "I just… It's not like you have the money, anyway. You need to save it, for Henry. I have my scholarships, I don't need anything and I _like_ that I don't need anything from you. It's important to me to be independent."

She understands. I know she does. But I can see on her face that she wishes things were different.

"I want you, Emma," she says, her voice low, obvious. "I want you in my house, I want you with me, I want to be with you in public, I want to take you out, show you off, hold your hand, kiss you…"

I smile. Something about the way she says it makes me feel valuable, _desirable_ , and these are things I haven't ever felt before.

"I'd like that. And one day, you can."

"One day…" she echoes.

We're 'in the moment' people, both of us, and setting our hopes on one day, at least two years in the future, doesn't sit right at all. Then again, I decide, there are a lot of things about the world that don't sit right with me and that doesn't stop me living in it, or these days, actually enjoying living in it.

Regina admits she's a little worried about Henry, because he was sick, so we take it slow, teenage couch making out rather than going for it right away. An hour passes, everything seems fine, so we head upstairs.

"I can give you a ride to work in the morning, I think Henry would like to see where you work," she says.

"What if someone sees?"

"I'm not your teacher. It's not… Well, it's frowned upon for us to date, I suppose, but we're not breaking any rules. Now that your grade is in Kathryn's hands, we can do what we like. Within reason."

"Reason, huh?" I ask, sliding down the bed, hovering above her. She giggles. It's a beautiful sound.

"Yes, reason."

"You know, I once read that there's no rhyme or reason to love," I tell her. The words are out of my mouth before I really think about it. She knows I love her, I've told her I love her, but talking about love so comfortably, so peacefully… That's definitely new.

"Oh yes?" she murmurs. And I realise she might be a teacher, she might be my teacher, but she's just as vulnerable, as young, as full of foolish dreams, as I am. Only one dream, one dream we both have, maybe that dream isn't foolish at all.

And then about a thousand alarms go off, and no, they're not in my head. They're in Henry's room and we're running and dialling and riding in the ambulance and it feels an awful lot like deja vu except I swear it didn't hurt as much last time and I _know_ I wasn't crying but this time I'm crying and the kid is unconscious and yeah, Regina knows I love her but does he know, does he know that I love him?

It's so fucking unfair. I lean against the side of the rig and cry my eyes out because the damn has been broken and for all I know this is fucking watershed and did I mention that I hate feelings? I knew there was a reason I avoided them. This family, these two people… I love them more than life itself and Regina can harp on until she's blue in the face about being blessed to have whatever time we do get with Henry but it's bullshit, it's utter bullshit and we should have forever, we should have fucking forever and we should be a family and have a house in the fucking suburbs and a boring car and a golden retriever that pees on the floor and another one and a half kids and holy shit I am spiralling-

"EMMA!"

She's noticed, of course.

"Emma, in the nicest way possible, get your shit together, or go home."

Wait, what?

"Huh?"

She gestures to the door of the ambulance, which has now stopped.

"My son is in surgery, and I love you, Emma, but I have to hold him up right now, and though I wish I could be, I'm not strong enough to hold you up at the same time."

I'm still crying, but now I'm angry. She can't give me a few seconds? She can't give me a _moment_ to feel sad, to feel afraid? Sure, she's been doing this for years but this is still all new to me and excuse me for not being the greatest at coping with it! I'm here, I'm trying, and I love them, dammit, doesn't she know that? Doesn't she know that I just need a moment to freak out and then, and then I'll be right there, I'll be everything she needs… I just can't be that _right this second_ because I'm a bit preoccupied with the five year old whose blood pressure just plummeted.

"I'm going inside, Emma. I'll call you later," she says, and I hardly see her eyes, hardly see the pain in them, before she turns, climbs down, and runs inside.

"I gotta go, Miss," the driver says. At least _he_ has the decency to sound sympathetic. "Taxi rank's over there."

I go in the direction he points, but I actually stop at the bus stop. Luckily, my student ID's in the pocket of my jacket. It'll get me back to my dorm… The idea of dorms, of school in general, feels so alien. I want to go in, I want to see how Henry is, I want to stay by Regina's side, to be whatever she needs, to help her, to be like I was last time. But I'm still scared, I'm shaking, and she's made it pretty clear she doesn't want me in there. No. She wants me to go. She _told_ me to go.

"Well, fine!" I spit at the sidewalk. "I'll go! You keep this stoic, regal bullshit going and I will go, back to my dorm, back to being the immature idiot you obviously think I am. Because I couldn't possibly care for your son as much as you do. I couldn't possibly love him. I couldn't possibly be upset because of that, because I love you, and him, and the family we make together…" I can't believe I fell for it. I can't believe I thought of them as my _family_.

Like, I get that Regina cares for me. Of course she does. And I'm not jealous of Henry, it's nothing like that. It's right that he comes first, I wouldn't have it any way. But just now it felt like… Like I wasn't a part of it, like she didn't _want_ me to be a part of it.

I felt like my issues, my anxiety, my problems, made her shut me out. They're fine for her to deal with when she feels like it, but when it gets tough, when it gets complicated, she wants me to go, she wants me out of the way. And I'm mad at her for it, only it ends up feeling a lot like I'm just mad at me.

The bus pulls up. It smells like puke and homeless people and who the fuck am I to judge them anyway? A few twists of fate and I could easily have been one of them. Maybe I'd fit in better. I certainly wouldn't have delusions like Regina Mills - and I've decided that's what she is. A delusion. A mean, cold bitch of a delusion who, yes, is secretly loving and wonderful and amazing, but for me, she is still a delusion. How can I possibly be with her? I'm a student, she's a teacher, and I've opened up to her but it's not as if she's really opened up to me.

Sure, she's told me about Henry, but he's Henry, he's not her. I probably know the kid better than I know his mother. How's that for an imbalanced relationship? In a way I'm just a glorified babysitter.

I know I'm taking this too far. I know I'm imagining things, I know I'm being dramatic and angry and catastrophic but I'm allowed to be in a bad mood, I'm allowed to be mad about this. And underpinning it all is the devastating fear that Henry doesn't-

HE IS GOING TO MAKE IT HE IS GOING TO MAKE IT HE IS GOING TO BE JUST FUCKING FINE!

But what if… As I think about this, I think about Regina and my heart breaks for her all over again because yes, I'm mad, but I still love her, I still love Henry, and even if she can't love me right now, I have to keep loving her. I have no choice. I've never had a choice.

Lights blur past the grimy bus window and I wriggle deeper into my cheap fake-leather jacket and shiver from a cold that comes from somewhere in my chest. It's too bright on the bus, too alive, and without really thinking I press the bell and get off. I have a vague idea of where I am and my boots, without socks again, hit the sidewalk with a rhythm I can easily get into. I accelerate it, breaking into a run.

My phone pings from my pocket and I look, immediately. It's her.

_Henry is out of the woods, he is sleeping now. How are you?_

I feel panic rise in my throat as I read, I try to calm myself but it's too late and I'm mad and scared and sad and relieved and I stagger towards the nearest building and prop myself up against the wall.

_Emma?_

Jeez, I gotta remember to turn off read receipts.

And now it's ringing. I should decline, I should let it go to voicemail, but dammit she's so good and I'm still so angry and I press green and try to yell "WHAT?" down the line but it comes out as more of a strangled gasp.

"Breathe, Emma," she says gently. "It's okay, it's going to be okay. Just breathe."

Something in her voice helps me calm down, even though I kind of hate her right now.

"I'm mad at you," I manage.

"I know," she says. She sounds really sad, but she doesn't say sorry.

"Are you?" I demand.

"Am I what? Mad at you? No."

"No, not mad at me. Sorry."

"Oh." There's a pause. "No, Emma. I'm not sorry. I mean, I'm sorry you're upset, that you felt so bad earlier, and that you're mad, but I'm not sorry for what I said or did. I did what I had to. Look, we can talk about this more tomorrow. Where are you right now?"

"I, uh…" I thought she would be sorry. I was so sure she'd be sorry, that she'd beg my forgiveness and come pick me up in her warm, comfy car.

"Emma, love, tell me where you are." I want to think it sounds patronising, but it doesn't. It just sounds kind. What she said before gets to me so much, but this, I can't fault.

"I took the bus," I admit. "But I didn't get all the way to school. I had to get off."

"Okay, Emma, I want you to call a cab. I can text you the number and you can get it to take you back to my place, you know where the key is, or back to school."

"So you don't want me with you, but you're fine with me being at your place? I don't get you, Regina!"

I think I hear her sigh. "I wish you could be with me, Emma, but deep down, I don't think you want to be. I think you're mad, I think you want to yell at me a good deal, but I really don't want you to do that right now."

"So you get to say what you feel, but I have no choice?" I demand.

"Oh, Emma, you always have a choice. But I am painfully close to breaking point and if you come here and speak your mind right now, I will not consider your perfectly valid feelings. I will not be the loving, caring girlfriend you absolutely deserve. I will call security. So I strongly advise you to go to my place, and I will see you for breakfast. Alternatively, and I would understand completely if your feelings compelled you to do this, you can go to your dormitory and we can arrange to meet, or not, at a later time."

I take several, shaky breaths. Is she fucking serious right now? Well, I know the answer to that. Yes, she is, and she's a total badass.

"What if I came to see you and didn't yell?" I ask in a small voice.

I think I hear her chuckle. That's good, at least. "I wouldn't call security. But I'd be asleep, and if you woke me up I'd give you a glare so terrifying I wouldn't even need to. Emma, I don't want to patronise you or say I know what you're feeling. I don't. But right now I have to do what's best for myself and my son."

"I… I don't understand you. But I… I want to. So I'm not going to run." As I say it, I'm telling myself too, but her response makes it worth it. Very, very worth it.

"Thank you. I love you so much, Emma Swan."

She sounds so tired, so ragged, in those two sentences, that maybe I do understand a little after all.

"I love you too," I whisper, and end the call before either of us can ruin it.

A message with a taxi number appears a moment later and because I love her, I call it. It's already paid to wherever I want to go. It seems to take a very long time to get to her place, and when I do arrive it still almost feels like I haven't. She keeps her house so clean and tidy, so empty… I go upstairs, looking around. The only room that's really lived in is Henry's, and that has puke on the floor. And the bed. And Jet. Poor Jet.

I know I'm never going to sleep, so I set about cleaning. I clean the dragon first, it's only a few specks but I don't want him to smell. Then I worry, a lot, that Henry won't have him when he wakes up. I consider taking him to the hospital but I know he and Regina need to rest. I don't know much about medicine or what Henry might have needed, but it dawns on me that Regina might have been so exhausted because she had to donate blood.

I come up with a solution. It takes several goes to get Jet's voice right, but finally I have a video I'm happy with and I text it to Regina with an explanatory message. Then I clean the rest of his room, wash his sheets, tidy his bookshelf and lie down on his bed for a moment to rest my eyes-

And that's where Regina finds me at 9am the next morning.

"Hey, Goldilocks," she says softly. I wake up slowly, reluctant to face the problems of the night before. Because we love each other, but I'm mad, I'm still so mad and when I look at her it only makes it worse.

I did a lot of thinking, while I was cleaning, and while I get that she did what she had to do, and I respect it, I still feel like I hardly know her in some ways. I know she's been through things, I know she has anxiety too, I know she's smart and awesome and a fantastic mother, but…

She's not perfect. And I find that hard to accept.

As I figure that one out, I end up with pretty much all the blame for my misery on me. Which in a way just makes me madder at her. I'm very confused.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes." I am _very_ hungry.

Regina makes pancakes. So she _does_ feel bad. Somehow, it's hard for me to take pleasure in this. I want to, I want to feel totally justified and incredible but in the end I just feel guilty. And half an hour later, I also feel stuffed. Regina just picks at hers but what can I say, I'm a stress eater.

We clear the plates, wash the dishes, wipe down the kitchen, put on another pot of coffee, fold Henry's now clean and dry sheets, drink the coffee in silence, wash the mugs, wash the spoons, wash the entire damn coffee maker, and I swear we're on the verge of cleaning out her freezer when I finally find the courage to say,

"So…"

"So," she agrees.

"I… I don't think I want to yell at you," I say, but I'm really not sure.

"That's good," she says. "What do you want to do?"

I shrug. "How's Henry?"

"He seems fine. He's still sleeping but his vitals are excellent. The Jet video is wonderful, I've sent it to his nurse's phone so she can show him when he wakes up."

"I'm glad you liked it," I say awkwardly.

"Emma, in the ambulance-"

"You did what you had to do, I know. I don't hold it against you."

"I did what we _both_ needed," she says gently. She knows it's going to make me mad again but she goes on anyway, as if she knows what's best. I want to be angry with her for that, too, but the truth is she probably _does_ know what's best.

"Emma, you were freaking out. A lot. And I couldn't help you. I really couldn't. Even if I had stayed, calmed you down, you would have needed me to do it again, and again, throughout the night and I just did not have the strength for that. I could tell what kind of mood you were in and it's wonderful that you're able to feel so vulnerable but also, impossible for you to rely on me to ground you."

"You don't know that I would have freaked out again if you'd helped me in the ambulance," I say, letting out at least some of the hurt.

"You're right."

"So why did you tell me to leave?" I demand. "Maybe I would have got better in a minute and come in and been there to help _you_."

Regina pauses. There's a flicker of something on her face, as if… As if she would have liked that.

"I knew that was a possibility. I didn't actually tell you to leave, Emma."

"Yes, you did!"

"I don't want to fight about this, but what I actually said was, get your shit together or leave. I do apologise for the crudeness, but I think the message was clear, and I didn't want you simply to disappear if you could cope with coming in."

"I…" I can't deny that it's what she said. I can't deny that she gave me a chance. But I hadn't been able to do it, I hadn't been able to get my shit together, so… So she needed me to go. "I want to be there for you all the time," I say weakly.

She smiles with warmth and understanding. "I know. But sometimes you can't be. Sometimes you have to look out for yourself first."

I've heard that before, but selfish woman that I am, it's only this time that I realise it doesn't just apply to me. Sometimes Regina has to look out for herself first, too. She's not as strong as she pretends, she's not as perfect and put together and able to deal with anything and take on the world as we'd both like to imagine. I try to work out how to express this to her.

"I'm not mad at you for how you acted last night. You did the right thing and… I'm sorry if I made it more stressful for you. That wasn't what I wanted and I'm glad you were able to do what you needed to do to keep it together."

She nods, but doesn't speak. After a considerable pause, she flashes me a small smile. "I'm waiting for the but, Emma. I know there is one."

I sigh. "But we're making up. I don't want to say it any more."

It's true. The tension's lifted, we're moving past it, we understand each other again and we're both a lot less tired and panicked about Henry, which is helping too. We're still in the kitchen; I lean against the counter and puff out my cheeks. I don't want to do it. I feel like being a grown up in a potentially healthy relationship involves doing a lot of things you don't want to do.

"I… Okay, so, firstly I know that I _do_ know you. I know that you're honest with me, like you always said you would be, and I know that you have walls for a reason. But sometimes I feel like… Sometimes I feel like I hardly know you, because I don't know anything about… I don't know why you have anxiety, I don't know why you used to drink or have panic attacks. I think it has something to do with your family, with your mother, and you've implied that she hurt you but that you really don't want to talk about it… I don't know, I guess I just feel like I don't really know how you feel or what might trigger you or what happened to you in the past, and sometimes you kind of act like you know everything about panic and anxiety and I get that you've been through it and that you're really smart and you know lots of stuff… But I also feel like maybe you bottle things up too much. I want to be honest with you about how I feel and I'm not asking you to give me a detailed account of your past, I just… I don't want you to hide. I want this to be a two way thing, I want… I want to feel like I can help you, as well as you helping me. I want to feel like we support each other. Last night I felt like you thought it could only go one way, like you supported me and if you couldn't do that, I might as well just leave. But I don't want things to be that way, I want to support you too, even when I'm breaking.

I… I also feel like… Like you're afraid to let me see you fall apart. I can't know how you were feeling last night but I do know that you were scared and I mean I've known Henry a few weeks and I was torn apart so I can only imagine what you were going through… But you never share that kind of thing with me. I've never seen you cry, I've never seen you anxious or scared. Even with Henry, you're always so strong and amazing and don't get me wrong, I admire you so much for your power and independence. But I don't think that's the real you, not all of her. And I really, really want to know all of her."

Regina watches me as I say this, listening intently, almost as if I'm giving a class presentation that she's about to grade. It's weird. I kind of wish she'd get mad or contradict me. But she doesn't. When I finish, she nods.

And then she says nothing. I don't speak either, I just wait. And then I watch as Regina Mills' carefully painted mask gradually falls away and I see an entirely different woman. I see a terrified mother and an abused child. In a way I see myself. In a way I see the opposite. And the thing is, I don't actually see anything different at all. The only thing that's changed is her acknowledgement, her agreement that this part of her exists.

She reaches out and takes my hand.

"I think you know me a lot better than you think you do," she says softly. "And I think you're scared, not about Henry, but about this, about us. You're scared that I'll leave, or that I'll make you leave. You're scared that I'll stop loving you. But I'm here to tell you, Emma Swan, that I will not. I will _never_ stop loving you. I can't make many promises, but that, I say with absolute certainty. And as for my past… I'd rather you didn't ask now, but whether it's later today, later this week, later this year, I'll… I'll tell you. I think you've earned the right to know. And it may surprise you but… I actually think I'd like to talk about it with you."

"Really?" I can't help but be surprised, just as she suspected.

"Yes. I know… I know you have some insecurities. I know you worry that I think you're young and immature. It's kind of obvious," she adds when she sees my embarrassment. "But you're not. You're young, yes, but you're very mature, very emotionally mature, and you handle me better than anyone ever has. You make me feel safe, Emma Swan, and that is not a common occurrence. You also make me laugh, and with the exception of my son, that's hardly common, either."

"I… You make me feel safe, too."

"I'm sorry I couldn't, last night. I truly am."

I shake my head. "You shouldn't apologise for that. I… You did the right thing. I needed the space, I needed to think and get through it on my own."

"You will be stronger for it," she says. "But getting stronger hurts, and timing is important. I regret that I was forced to push you."

I press a kiss to her lips. "It was more of a loving nudge."

She pulls me into her arms. "I like that," she breathes, deepening the kiss, then tilting her head back to look right in my eyes.

"I may ask you to leave again, Emma, but please don't go anywhere."

It doesn't make sense, but I think I know exactly what she means.


End file.
